


Church of the Poison Mind

by DahliasForKatya



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/F, Lesbian AU, Lesbian Sex, Mild mentions of abuse, Smut, mild verbal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DahliasForKatya/pseuds/DahliasForKatya
Summary: Trixie is doing her best to navigate the perils of adult life and avoid the searing grip of her past, all while gambling what little sanity she has left on an unintentional affair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be multiple chapters of just me crying, being emo, and typing entirely in italics. Thank you so much from the bottom of my smol bean cinnamon roll heart to all of the ANGELS who inspired me and kept me going, it literally would not have been possible without [ArtificialLale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallale) , [Matilda_Queen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/matilda_queen/), and [BromeoandJooliet](http://bromeoandjooliet.tumblr.com/)!!! Thank you!!! More parts coming soon <3

Our eyes meet across the room. One glance is all it takes for her to ignite a fire in me. Before I know it, her hips are behind mine, and we’re moving to the music across time. My mystery girl beckons me across the floor. I’m hungry, and I’m desperate for a bite. I can’t remember what happens next, but suddenly we’re stumbling through my apartment. She knocks over a side table, her fingers through my hair. She’s kissing me, hard and deep. I haven’t gotten her number but her body is calling me. We crash into my room, onto my bed, and she’s pulling off my dress. She’s a crimson sultress, dripping like hot candle wax between my fingers. I can’t think, can’t speak, I’m trembling beneath her touch, her hot breath in my ear. Her eyes are as beautiful as they are violent, and they squeeze shut when my hands snag in her hair. I feel her all around me and she feels like the sun on my skin. Every inch of me is alight, she's everywhere, coursing through my veins; _this isn’t me, this isn’t me_ , but I can’t stop her hands as they explore the goosebumps rising on my neck. Without words, she is singing to my knees, they bend like book pages, saving her place. Her scarlet lips are all over me, trailing bruises down my chest, bright red and purple galaxies, reminders for the morning. It’s dark, but I swear a halo illuminates around her; she takes me to a holy place. Moonlight streaks in through my blinds and I can see veins beneath the surface of her arms, twisted and violet, they mimic the lines of aspen trees. If I could, I would go like a bird there, and perch myself in her wonder. She teases me now, her tongue everywhere but nowhere, all at once; I’m shaking as her branches throw me to the ground. Her fingers push inside of me, and I’m writhing against her. She's rough with me, but holy fuck I deserve it. She smiles something devilish and sweet, and her mouth comes crashing down on mine, our lips are braiding unspoken poems as our tongues entwine. _I’m seeing stars_ . I’m on top of her now, and her nails sink in, kindling a fire down my back. Scorching bits of impassioned heaven are swirling around us while I worship her body; I’m in awe of this perfect stranger, this godly woman. _Omnipotent_ . Everything is rough and quick while the flames are roaring around us, everything spinning, faster and faster. I’m almost at my breaking point, and so is she. She sinks her teeth into my shoulder, moans escape into the expanse, fourth of July fireworks frenzy behind my eyelids. Our bodies go slack, her fingers, once mapping routes across my thighs, fall against the bed. _Bliss_. She soothes the stinging on my back, trailing soft kisses over swelling peaks, her panting wet and hot. We fall asleep a tangled mess of sweaty elation, and her perfume fills my dreams.

 The sun wakes me in the morning, it seems as though I’ve forgotten my alarm. I feel a chill run through me. My fingers search the sheets for her fire, but she’s gone. Nothing but smoking embers lie in her place. The sun in rising, but I feel in the dark.

 

\---

 

Trixie’s mother used to make blueberry pancakes every Sunday morning, but always mixed way too many blueberries into the batter. They stuck to the roof of Trixie’s mouth with a pungent punch of unripe sour, their gooey insides sickly and hot. Trixie, now long out of her mother’s house, could taste them, acrid and tart, stuck between sparse bits of undercooked pancake and sticky maple syrup. Her mother was good at many things--Trixie could hear her now, the way she’d sing to her as a child, the both of them perched behind the hum of a sewing machine; Trixie's chest swelled with the sweet memory of her mother's voice, like a beacon echoing through the length of her arms, throbbing in her fingertips. She could feel the buzzing prick of the needle, hear the gentle daze of Dolly Parton or Suzy Q--but she was a god awful cook. Trixie, timid as she was, _is_ , didn’t have the heart to tell her. Every Sunday morning it was blueberry pancakes, strawberry when the warm summer months permit it. Despite how awful they’d been, Trixie’s heart now ached at the smell of blueberries; and a certain, painful nostalgia sometimes struck her in the produce section of the grocery store. A bit older now and a bit more weathered, she’d do anything for one more taste. On those ceaseless nights, staring up at unfamiliar ceilings, she’d long for the soft lull of her mother’s lullabies; _love is like a butterfly, a rare and gentle thing…_

 

\---

 

The scent carried her down the stairs as the imagined sound of her mother’s laughter rang in her ears. She felt sick. Shaking the memories, Trixie braced around the corner of the cupboard, clumsily nicking the side of her stomach on its pointed edge. The jolt sent a few pots and pans somersaulting across the tiled floor, and Trixie clamored forward, crashing into the kitchen. A stifled hiss caught on her lips while she brought herself back to her feet, she let a few cool fingers calm the buzzing at her side. And although she’d hoped no one would be around to bare witness, sizzling sounds of breakfast rose from the kitchen, and a familiar scent troubled her nose.

 Trixie looked up nervously from under long lashes, locks of messy blonde hair falling down her back as she lifted her head. Her blue eyes quickly locked on the gaze of her roommate's, and a gentle, goofy smile tugged at the corners of the other girl’s lips. Trixie was mortified. Pearl, ready to laugh it off, instead retreated and softened her face, deciding not to comment; neither on Trixie’s fall, nor the half naked girl she’d seen stumbling down the stairs moments ago.

 “I’m making Pancakes!” she chimed instead, returning to her pans. A sudden aroma smacked Trixie right in the face, _blueberries_. Trixie shook the pain from her browline, and perched herself atop one of the barstools behind the center island; she thought maybe she’d heard the faint padding of Violet slinking down the stairs, but it was still a bit too early for that.

 It wasn’t a very big kitchen, not quite large enough for a breakfast nook or otherwise small table, so they’d settled for a few recycled stools around the center countertop. The stove sit adjacent a few smaller countertops, their surfaces now cluttered with mixing bowls and empty containers. The fridge rose only a few feet from the ground, but somehow proved large enough to sustain the three of them as it sat tucked in a corner on the far side of the room. Pearl was the only real foodie of the group, so the kitchen never really received much attention anyway; save for Violet’s late morning coffee and cigarettes, and those sparse moments Kim would swing by and poke around in the fridge.

 Trixie felt on the fidgety side that morning, and pressed a shaky index finger into the ashtray on the counter. She watched as the ash lifted, a staleness wafting from its plight. She peered up as morning rose, and beams of refracted sunlight shone in through the sheer curtains, dust glittering in the paths of bright morning against the lavender walls. Trixie hummed quietly while she continued toying with the ashtray, Pearl looked up from her work and shot her a glare, to which Trixie promptly removed her fingers.

 Trixie sometimes couldn’t control her hands, she often found herself idly touching things she shouldn’t. The other girls frequently chided her, quite like a parent may a petulant child, but she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t quite curiosity, and most of the time she didn’t pay it much mind, but those who knew her chalked it up to nervous hands. She was still thinking about crashing into the kitchen when Pearl spoke again, “you’re up early!”

 Trixie whipped her head around at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and winced as Violet came sauntering out, a blanket still cocooning her thin shoulders. She realized then that it had been Violet coming down the stairs, and she hoped desperately no one had heard her last night, washing vanishing symphonies over her mystery girl.

 “I might still be sleeping if _some_ people,” she glared at Trixie, “weren’t so damn loud, I could swear someone was throwing bowling balls down the stairs.” Violet closed her eyes and slumped down in the stool next to Trixie, coming to rest her upper body on the island.

 Violet wasn’t quite as sensitive as the other girls, well, she was, just in a different way. Sensitive to her own needs, rather than the needs of others. She wasn't selfish, in fact, one of the most selfless people Trixie had ever known; just not as cautious, a bit more abrasive. Trixie’s spine tensed at the thought of waking Violet, and she sighed, attempting an apology. The words threaded out of her shakily, like something caught in the embark of a geyser's spout.

 “Sorry...I--”

 Pearl interjected, “Trixie, don’t apologize to little miss _fla-zay-da_ over here, maybe if she hadn’t gotten home so late last night, she’d be alive like the rest of us ” She sent a soft glance to Trixie, and gave a comforting smile as if to say, _don’t worry, she doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s just Violet._

 Violet snatched a pack of cigarettes from the counter and rifled through the small box, finding one and putting it to her lips to light. The spark wheel of Violet’s lighter snagged, and Trixie watched as she knocked it against the counter.

 “I’m not the only one who had a little too much fun last night...” Violet added, sinister. Her eyes met Trixie’s, and she smirked into her words, “I'm so glad I dragged you to that bar and you finally got laid, it sounded like you two-”

 “Violet, enough! Leave her alone.”

 Violet softened her face in apology and let a moment pass before speaking. “You okay, Trix?” she mumbled, the cigarette bouncing between her lips, “you look like you saw a ghost or something.” Finally, a spark, and two billowing puffs of tobacco crept from Violet’s nostrils.

 Trixie’s cheeks lit up bright red, and a tiny nausea tugged in her abdomen. She fiddled with the cuff of her sleeve to avoid eye contact. 

 Trixie, though fragile in nature, could be stronger than she appeared. When she needed to, she could be cutting, and bold, acrimony could careen from her tongue in the heat of the moment. If necessary, words could leave her like battery acid, seeping their poison into sentences better left unsaid. Trixie lived like that for a long time, building walls brick by brick, until she was cornered; and even the gentlest of dogs could bite when backed into a corner. If she’d learned anything from home, it was that barking got you nowhere. She wasn’t that girl anymore, she couldn’t be. Instead of toughening her up, those long gone days had left her frail, and defenseless. She needed to please, needed to fade into the background; even the faint scratch of discontent, disapproval, disappointment, could send her into a panic. Those long gone days haunted her still, plucking a scorching reverie on her fried nerves. And sometimes she could still feel the fevered claw of acid dragging up her throat.

 On any given day, she may have laughed and calmly braced the embarrassment, but she was already nervous, already reeling. First day of classes, rent due tomorrow, and _13 missed calls_ on her phone. That beautiful girl was gone and she'd probably never see her again, only bruises marked her place. She shuddered and pushed away the thoughts; those sleepless nights were catching up with her.

 “What? Oh I’m fine,” she lied, biting the inside of her cheek, “just nervous for today. First day jitters, I guess.” Pearl caught the falter in Trixie’s voice, but felt it better left unpressed.

 “You’ll do great,” a familiar voice said from behind them. Kim entered the sunny kitchen, pulling the screen door closed behind her. She looked Trixie up and down and grimaced at the sight of her pink nightgown, “Except for the fact that we have to leave in like five minutes and you’re not even dressed!” Kim smiled passed Pearl and Violet, and shooed Trixie up the stairs.

 

\---

 

Trixie had always imagined the inside of her body like a network of strings, pulled taut in all directions across her ribcage. They pulled ceaselessly at the fragile perch of her veins; and though they tugged which each rise and fall of her chest, they were the staples and glue that held her together. Lacing their knotted poise in intricate webs, they kept her grounded, tied to Earth’s gravity like a ribbon holds a balloon. And as they approached the university, she could feel them pulling tighter and tighter, threatening her lungs. She felt as though at any moment, all of the strings inside of her could break, and then what would she be left with? The skin of her hands felt raw as she peered down at them. _What if she wasn’t cut out for this? What if the other girls were too far ahead of her already? What if she couldn’t keep up?_ Her phone buzzed in her pocket for the fourteenth time that morning. _Not today, you can have anyday you want, just not today._ She wished she had started school earlier, last fall with Kim and Jinkx; Trixie couldn't shake the feeling that she was too far out of the loop to keep up. Maybe all of the things her mother said about her were true.

 A sudden chill streamed in through the car window, and she buried both hands into the fabric of her babydoll dress for warmth, sorry she didn't wear that cardigan Kim had suggested. In the driver’s seat, Kim pulled into student parking, and quieted the roar of the engine. She turned to face Trixie, and Trixie groaned, her head in her hands, “Do I have to go?”

 Kim pursed her lips, taking Trixie’s hands in her own and giving them a quick shake, “You’ve wanted this a long time, you worked hard for it, you got in. Now go in,” she smiled, “listen, about today…” Kim added, a slight lisp on her tongue, “I know I said I’d be able to show you around, but I just… I really have to finish these projects before my 11:00 o’clock...” Trixie froze, nervous but understanding. Kim continued, “before you say anything! I know you don’t know her that well but Jinkx said she can totally show you around and she is in your first class, she’s really awesome just give her a ch--”

 “I’ll be fine,” Trixie breathed, weary, “really, It’s fine, do what you have to do, I totally get it.” Trixie smiled reassuringly, unlocked her door, and began climbing out of the Jeep. She scanned the campus, her eyes coming to rest on Jinkx’s red hair, pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head. Jinkx smiled as she approached the car, and Trixie was relieved she'd have at least someone to show her around. Trixie hadn't known Jinkx particularly long, but she was sure they'd met at least twice, though she couldn't recall where. She seemed nice enough, and if she was a friend of Kim's, she couldn't be that bad.

 "So," Jinkx beamed, a crooked smile creeping across her lips, "I hear I'm running this dog and pony show today! Don't worry," she paused to chuckle, "you're in good hands." She spoke with a gentle affectation, and although her words landed with an old timey curve, she was far from pretentious. She had a certain air of old Hollywood about her, and held herself in a quirky gait, teeming with outward confidence. Speaking to her felt like coming home, like all those Shirley Temple movies Trixie had watched as a child; Trixie took comfort in this. Jinkx clasped her hands together, and her gold nail polish glinted in the sun.

 A slight breeze blew past them, settling into Trixie's skin; quietly, as though a secret, goosebumps rose on the surface of her arms, and she smiled with all of the spirit she could muster. Kim gave Trixie's forearm a reassuring squeeze, hugged them both goodbye, and started for the art studio.

 Gravel crunched beneath their boots as they began down the walkway, freshly fallen leaves sticking to the soles of their shoes. The air was a bit brisk, but the sun shone bright in the sky, and Trixie shaded her eyes to get a better view of the first building.

 Red brick and cement rose grandly from the soft green grass and towered over them, the building a bit intimidating in its climb. The campus was covered in a menagerie of flowery bushes, mostly hydrangea and rhododendron, their branches undulating in the breeze, mimicking the balding trees above them. Early Autumn had already begun its decline on the foliage, and the grounds wept with the fall of browning petals and red leaves. As they entered an unfinished area of ground, Trixie was mindful of the swollen tree roots snaking through the grass, careful not to trip and repeat the morning's events.

 "How long have you and Kim known each other?" she asked, shaking debris from her shoes before beginning up the marble stairs. Trixie saddled her messenger bag over an opposite shoulder, and sped up slightly to catch the door before it swung shut behind someone else. She braced it's weight, heavier than expected, and held the door for Jinkx.

 "A couple of years now I'd say, it's no big thing, really. Kim's delightful isn't she?" Trixie kept in time with Jinkx as they rounded an enormous hall; grand wooden doors against ivory walls revolved as students brushed in and out. "Great thing about this school are it's extracurriculars, you were at last year's student fashion show right? I think I remember seeing you there. Kim and I met through the fashion program."

 Trixie hadn't realized Jinkx and Kim had gone so far back, and she tried to hide a hot wave of jealousy as Jinkx continued.

 "Could I take a tiny peak at your schedule? Perhaps I can shed some light on some of your professors, I'll warn you, there are quite a few characters!" Trixie, already clutching the paper in her left fist, handed it to Jinkx, and the two of them scanned the page.

 "Your classes look pretty light for today, which is good... Okay let's see... Ooh! Acting and Stage Presence, we have that together! Be a bit careful around this one dear, she's got a heart of gold, but definitely not the kind of person you'd want to rub the wrong way!" Jinkx chuckled fondly, as if recalling a distant memory.

 Trixie swallowed a lump in her throat as she watched Jinkx's finger cross the page, "Same with this class, I had it first year, too. The professor’s a real tough broad but her class can be a hoot if you play your cards right! Just keep your head down and sti-" Jinkx halted mid sentence, her eyes darting across the paper.

 "Oh my..."

 "What, what is it?" Trixie tensed, following Jinkx's eyes to class three.

 

_2:30 p.m.                                          Class 3_

  **Chemistry I**

  _Building A                                    Room 203_

 

"Oh darling," Jinkx exhaled, an unanticipated mischief rising in her brows, "They really set you up for a whirlwind this year, didn't they..." Jinkx trailed off, trying not to laugh.

 "What do you mean?" A stifling anxiety bubbled up in Trixie's chest, the strings pulled and tugged, tighter, _tighter_. Trixie masked her alarm, inhaled, and took the paper from Jinkx's hands, returning a nervous smile of meager rations.

 “Well, don’t look so frightened!” Jinkx backpedaled, “I never meant to scare you, really. It’s just funny, I didn’t think she’d be back so soon is all. Hell, I didn’t think she’d be back at all!”

 Trixie was more scared now if anything; _back from where?_

 “Don’t worry! Really, I mean listen… that class is crazy, absolutely bonkers but it’s arguably one of the best at this school! Quite brilliant, actually!” Trixie’s eyes widened as Jinkx continued on with hushed excitement, “Well, it’s a tiny thing, really, rumor has it, the professor was having an affair with a female student…” Jinkx looked over both shoulders cautiously, “I won’t say who that student is but gosh, it was all anyone could talk about! Anyway, after she had to leave, none of us thought she’d be back… _but_ I guess, the show isn’t over until the fat lady sings!”

 Trixie wanted to go home. She needed a hot shower.

 Jinkx peered down at her wristwatch, and her thin brows raised in exasperation, “Well crap, would you look at the time, we can’t have you late on your first day! Look at me, the town gossip! That’s New York for ya honey, eat your heart out.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun peered in rich that morning, and Trixie was reminded of how much she hated wearing sunglasses. She hated the feeling of wearing sunglasses because they were too distracting; she didn’t like the weight on her face, on the bridge of her nose. She’d too often find herself staring at the rims, missing what lie right in front of her. She found the distortion of color irritating, like she was dreaming half of the day away. Lately, removing sunglasses felt no different than leaving them on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was honestly like pulling teeth, I've forced it all out of me and it's been as cathartic as it has been terrifying. I would not have made it through without the l i t e r a l s t e p m o m to my fic [ ArtificialLale](http://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallale)!! Also the lovely [ Matilda_Queen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/matilda_queen/), and [ Mike](http://bromeoandjooliet.tumblr.com/)!! Thank you everyone for all of the lovely feedback on the last chapter and don't be afraid to come say hi!! [ My Tumblr!!](http://dahliasforkatya.tumblr.com/)

 

Even from a young age, Trixie spent a good chunk of her time in the water. She couldn’t wait to get home from school and retreat to the bathroom; a towel draped over her shoulder. She’d draw her golden hair back in a high bun, and sit haphazardly at the bottom of a stalled shower. The water beat hard against her freckled back as the cold tile settled into warmth beneath her skin. She’d sit until the water ran cold, and the pads of her fingers pruned. When the mere act of breathing became relentless, Trixie would find herself craving the stinging spray of scalding water across the surface of her body. There wasn’t a problem in the world a that hot shower couldn’t solve, or at least postpone. _Sanctuary._

 Trixie’s mother would often scold, “You’re running up the water bill!”

 And of course, as with most things, a terrible guilt would run through her. She’d resign herself from that happy place and apologize, from there, she’d retreat to her small bedroom. Sitting for hours in a towel, contemplating going back in anyway. Things weren’t always like this, her room used to be sanctuary enough, her home, her mother’s touch; but now she felt distanced from herself, vague, like navigating life through a video game. Have you ever looked down at your own hands, and hardly recognized them? Trixie could feel the meaning of every word she spoke hitch on her lips, each consonant skipping on the beat of its own arrival. Words scattered, wandering across time, lost in the hollows of the space between her ears. She’d wander the halls of her school, a ghost in a shell, auto piloting her way from class to class. _Mindless._ That sour sting was all that could revive her, all that could bring her back down to land.

 The sun peered in rich that morning, and Trixie was reminded of how much she hated wearing sunglasses. She hated the feeling of wearing sunglasses because they were too distracting; she didn’t like the weight on her face, on the bridge of her nose. She’d too often find herself staring at the rims, missing what lie right in front of her. She found the distortion of color irritating, like she was dreaming half of the day away. Lately, removing sunglasses felt no different than leaving them on.

 Trixie’s mother used to make blueberry pancakes every sunday morning, but always mixed way too many blueberries into the batter. They were especially runny that morning, especially bitter. Trixie choked them down as she always did, with a warm smile to acknowledge her mother’s hard work. From her seat at the table, she peered around the stairway, willing her father to come stumbling down. Her eyes landed on her mother’s pursed lips, and she sunk down in her chair, too nauseas to eat. He hadn’t come home last night. _Again._

 

\---

 

Trixie’s stomach was churning quietly in anticipation of the day’s classes. She could hear Jinkx’s words still, flowing in and out of her mind. She carried those words with her throughout the day, to her first class, Acting and Stage Presence with Professor Del Rio. _A heart of gold, but definitely not the kind of person you’d want to rub the wrong way._ Which rang true, mostly. She took comfort in the way Jinkx played a witty banter with their professor, she aspired to that confidence.

 And then on to Vocal Studies with Professor Minj, where Jinkx had left her outside the door with a smile of warm wishes; _She's a real tough broad but her class can be a hoot if you play your cards right._ Trixie worried then about how she’d find her next class without aid. She turned a small glance in the direction of a pale haired girl seated adjacent her own desk, a first year just like Trixie. She seemed friendly enough, quiet, with a smile of gleaming teeth and thin lips. Trixie thought maybe she’d introduce herself, but discarded the idea. Maybe, she’d come to Trixie a bit later on and they’d hit it off. Maybe she’d never even learn the girl’s name.

 Trixie gathered her things at the end of class and began down the narrow hallway, headed toward the staircase. She assumed the two in room 203 meant the second floor, at least that’s what she had hoped. Trixie wasn’t keen on being late, but she had terrible navigational skills, if any. 

 Trixie, so consumed with the prospect of getting lost, became lost, quickly. Suddenly, she was looping circles around the second floor, passing the same doors, full of the same people and their watching eyes. She couldn’t seem to leave her headspace; _that class is crazy, absolutely bonkers, but arguably one of the best at this school! Quite brilliant, actually!_ Trixie wondered how something could be crazy and brilliant all at once, how those two could marry and craft a science class.

 As the clock rounded 2:30, her lack of sleep was slowly becoming more and more apparent. She found herself caught between reality and dreams. She could still feel _that girl_ all around her, her mystery, red lipped beauty; could still picture her through the darkness, the way her lips parted and trembled against her own. There was some kind of magic there, in that space, some kind of beginning. The two of them melding in the night, like soft hands braiding underwater. Trixie ached then, as there was also some kind of end.

 Trixie wandered further down the corridor, passed doors 213 and 211. By 2:45 she was grateful to have found her way, but reeling. She pictured what the class would look like, students already seated and settled, having to apologize as she walked in. The feeling followed her like an omniscient pair of eyes, stalking her down the floor of the classroom, calling on her tardiness. 207 then, 205, she was getting close-

 Lost in thought, Trixie’s forehead collided with the shoulder of someone rifling through papers outside of room 203. The jolt sent both of them to the linoleum, busied papers floating around them like ashes, sweeping to the ground. Trixie looked up, they locked eyes, and her heart plunged deep into the pit of her stomach. _Her. It was her._ All red lipped and slender. _Mystery girl._ Trixie’s face flushed, speechless. She could tell from the girl’s ghostly expression that they were both thinking the same thing. Memory overcame her, swelling in her temples.

 

\---

 

Her teeth sink into my bottom lip, vicious and stinging. Her moans are like my symphony, beautifully poised as they glide over my lips, their melodies ringing in my mouth. She’s salty with sweat but delicious, and I can’t stop my tongue from trailing up the length of her chest. She pushes my head down where she wants me, _needs me_ , and I tease the daylights out of her, plunging my teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. And then I taste her, and she melts into my mouth, dripping down my chin. She’s stifling her moans now, reaching for my hands and placing them on her breasts. Every part of her is taut and lean, glorious and glowing. She’s too good for me, and she knows it. She feels fleeting, but for right now she’s mine to worship. Her curls are splayed across my pillow, and I’m hoping I can still smell her shampoo come morning. The skin of her thighs is soft against my cheeks, and I feel her legs tighten around me. Her body jerks, and releases, gentle sonatas careening from her lips. I let her music engulf me, consume me, fluid harmonies rising in my ear drums. _Turn up the volume, drown out the silence._ She pulls me back up to taste herself, and we’re at it again, electric, _kinetic._ My skin is on fire, her nails scrambling down my back, _I’m praying she breaks skin._

 

\---

 

The scratches down Trixie’s back lit up like a switchboard, fiery paths radiating down the surface of her skin, hot with anxiety. Her throat felt scorchingly dry, where the words hid from her tongue. Their eyes met again as they scrambled to pick up papers, their faces stark, dumbstruck. She watched the other girl’s hands scattering; and in the light, she couldn’t have been much older than her, maybe a few years. Acid crept up her throat as Trixie wondered if her own skin still lay beneath the girl’s fingernails.

 “I - uh, I’m so sorry,” Trixie gathered the remaining papers and rose to her feet, her palms slick with sweat and unease. The girl muttered something soft in reply, but Trixie couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in her ears. She felt the strings tighten, constricting around her. She wanted to say more, but didn’t know where to start. She was even more gorgeous in the light, and her clothes clung criminally to each contour of her body. She had to break eye contact, say something, do something. Anything but this. Both stood quietly, minds racing. Trixie’s eyes darted to the ground in self defense, but she was only more flustered by the sight of the girl’s pointed red pumps. Correction, she wasn’t a girl, she was anything but. Especially then, as Trixie couldn’t help but picture what lie beneath her clothes, she wanted desperately for the bruises.

 They brought Trixie’s mind back to the color of her lips, bright against the cream of her complexion. And Trixie stood again, thinking about her lips, wondering what it would feel like to reach out and touch them; to stain her fingertips red, and carry a bit of this woman with her to class. Trixie pictured sitting a few rows down from her, stealing glances, borrowing a pen, unable to look away. She could never be so bold. She knew that the minute they stepped through the door, Trixie would never so much as look at her again.

 Mystery girl cleared her throat, bringing Trixie back from her thoughts, and flashed a meager smile before turning for the door. Trixie, in reflex, held it out for her, secretly reveling the scent of her perfume as it lingered behind her; the same perfume that undoubtedly still clung to the fabric of her pillow cases.

 The classroom was quite larger than the others she’d seen that day, with black industrial tables and stools in the place of desks. Various wires and tubes wound out of them, connecting tanks below to the burners that sat atop the surface. The walls were lined with large glass cabinets, containing beakers and other related paraphernalia; the amount of equipment seemed almost superfluous given the scant headcount of the room. There might’ve been twenty students at most, but no professor at the head of the class. As Trixie scanned the room, she was privily grateful the professor was later than she, but still, an apprehension simmered within her. Her eyes crossed the room in search of her mystery girl.

 Much to Trixie’s surprise, mystery girl then stood at the head of the room, facing away to scribble something across the whiteboard. It read in messy, coiled cursive:

 

 

_Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova_

 

 

“Okay class! I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up in the dumpsters out back. Very messy! Anyway, as you can see from the board I’ll be your professor for this term. And look, I know the name seems daunting, so you can just call me Katya.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie had left her home, at the center of town, and moved the 909 miles to New York. She’d left Sharon’s Grocery on Grove Street; where she’d sit for hours behind the register, watching girls her age straggle in, pushing strollers with toddlers underfoot. She’d left her house on Dogwood Avenue, where they used to pop the tops of johnny pumps and dance in the spray. Azalea's Ice Cream and Chestnut Park, Andy’s Books, and the corner cheese shop. Bicycles, board games, and balloons, floated in the dust behind her. And their images felt like home; or more like a rose tinted dream, slowly, every stalk of corn she passed seemed to bend beneath the weight of what was no longer there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the beautiful feedback on the last two chapters, you all make my world go round!!! Thank you to Lale (step mom to my fic) and Matilda for loving me up and constantly gassing my fic, I would not have made it through without all of this support! This is basically just 3k of Trixie crying and being a hot mess, enjoy!!

Trixie’s father wasn’t a bad man, but he was like a trampoline come July when it came to stretching the truth. 

 She always felt such a sense of pride when it came to her father, there was no one else in the world who cared for her quite like he did. He was a well dressed man, meagerly successful, hardworking. He snored loudly in the evenings, fell asleep most nights in front of the T.V., but always rose at the near crack of dawn for his shift at the quarry. No matter how late he worked, hours spent in back breaking labor under the summer sun, he was always present. Every weekend he would treat her to fancy meals at their favorite Portuguese restaurants, or Sunday morning matinees at the local movie house. She liked “helping him” tie his shoes in the morning, liked their quiet dinners at home. She enjoyed watching him cook, dancing around the kitchen excitedly when he flambeed the contents of a saute pan. 

 Trixie loved the derby most of all, watching her father’s eyes light up as his favorite horse rounded the track in victory. She loved the colors they wore, and their funny names. She was ecstatic to bursting whenever he’d let her place a bet; she’d cheer them on from the sidelines, imitating their gallop. And Trixie, only nine and confused by the sport, would believe her father when he said her horse had won, even if it hadn’t. Trixie often wished her mother would accompany them, but relished this safe space with him. She looked up to him; idolized him with the kind of starry-eyed innocence only a child could wear. 

 They were watching stars and planting wishes, chocolate mousse for dessert and butterfly kisses. He grew a love for Trixie in the garden, as tall as eight mammoth sunflowers. She couldn’t wait to learn and grow, to scatter the seeds and watch him sow. 

 Trixie could recall that day he picked her up from school, could recount how many times she leaned in to smell his cologne. He was tall and dark haired, and Trixie couldn’t wait until she could be big and strong like him. He wore a new shirt that day, his hair was shorter, and Trixie could see he’d had his leather shoes shined. She looked down at her reflection in them, and they distorted the contours of her face, making her smile. She liked to imagine that he’d dressed up just for her, like prince charming come to whisk Cinderella to the ball. Trixie held his hand the whole walk home, fidgeting in excitement as they started up the driveway. She couldn’t wait for her mother to see his new outfit, Trixie hoped she’d like it enough to sit at the dinner table with them that night, instead of in front of the T.V. like she always did. 

 She twirled herself around his finger; wondering how long it would take for her fairy godmother to sweep her up, and turn her school clothes into a gown, big and blue. She dreamed of woodland creatures and magic pumpkins while he held the screen door for her. And she curtsied passed him, so caught up in fantasy that she failed to see the hurt cross her mother’s face. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? How the crushing weight of reality can change a perspective.

 “Well don’t you look nice.” Her mother said, “New shirt. New shoes. New girlfriend?” 

 

\---

 

  _Katya. Professor Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova._

 

 The center of Trixie’s gravity upended, overturning bilious nerves in the pit of her stomach. She felt as though a woolen blanket over a stove burner, recumbent and stifling, willing the flames to overcome her. _Katya._ A beautiful Russian curl fell from her lips, each word more tempting than the last. She stood at the head of the class almost syballine, and Trixie wondered how she’d never noticed the accent before. The thought occurred to her then, that they hadn’t done very much talking; somehow she’d underestimated the power of body language. There was something to be said about a body that alluring; how their chemistry had the ability to forego speech. They spoke in only the tongue of ardor that night, both tongues passing fluidly over goosebumps and other, more private parts. Trixie could still feel her mouth, hot and wet, painting bruises down the skin of her chest. They ached a sore path of memory, and Trixie tried desperately to not to touch them.

  _Katya._ She was as beautiful as she was unattainable. Her words were almost aromatic, and though their meaning lie completely lost, Trixie could feel each curl envelope her. Saccharine, but daring, _enigmatic_. Trixie’s face flushed. She found it hard to concentrate, to look anywhere but Katya’s lips. And though she sat at the far end of the class, she might as well have been center stage. Katya’s eyes followed her every move, like the preeminent charm of the Mona Lisa. Trixie could recall every art museum she’d ever been to, and all were incomparable to this beauty, this red lipped mystery. This moment, while lively and brilliant, was shattering, and Trixie came crashing back to Earth, hard; like a space traveler jettison from the shuttle.

 “Okay, since this is small class, and I am to be molding your tiny minds, why don’t we get to know each other a bit better? I’ll start. Privet! I’m Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but you can call me Katya. And since you all love talking about my sex life so much, you’ll be happy to know I got laid last night!” She shot Trixie a flippant glance, and her gleaming teeth widened into a smile. Trixie recoiled, red in the face. She could feel the acid creeping up her throat.

 “Oh, and also,” she continued, “I’m pretty sure I still have two of my baby teeth! We see, who’s next?” Katya scanned the room, and let a red finger nail land on the first desk.

 “Oh, me? Um fuck, okay, hey I’m Detox and I don’t want to fucking be here.”

 “Ura! This is kind of spirit I like to see,” Katya chirped, her hands on her hips, “you next, tall skinny one!” 

 “Hieeeee, my name’s Alaska, and Roxxxy lent me the top I’m wearing. Isn’t it cute?” 

 “Not as cute as you think! Okay, next! You, pretty Barbie!” 

 And all eyes landed on Trixie.

 “I um, hi, I’m Tracy-I mean Trixie! Trixie Mattel. And um, I have to use the bathroom, can I please use the bathroom now?” 

 The classroom erupted in laughter, and Trixie sank even further into herself, feeling the prick of hot tears threaten her bottom lashes.

 “Please,” she tensed.

 Katya dropped her front, allowing the gravity of the situation to weigh on her. Truthfully, she was just as shaken as Trixie, though she’d never allow herself even a second of vulnerability. Her face softened, then returned to levity.

 “I didn’t know plastic dollies could use bathroom, but of course. You know where this is, yes?”

 Trixie didn’t know where the bathroom was and didn’t care. She’d never ask. She gathered her things and started for the door, and although she didn’t turn to look back, she was certain every eye had followed her out.

 The pale haired girl from Trixie’s previous class, the first year, sat on the right side of the room. And Katya, shifting her weight to an opposite foot, called upon her, almost uncomfortably. 

 “Your name?”

 “Max.”

 “You seem like nice girl. You make sure she makes it to bathroom okay, make sure she doesn’t fall in.”

 Max grabbed her bag and hurried after Trixie, catching the door before it swung shut. 

 After rounding the floor twice, Trixie found the bathroom, tucked into a small corner at the far end of the hall. The boarded window of the door read in bold letters: **Out of order, use first floor.**

 Trixie pushed through anyway, feeling the boards come undone under her drive. The room was musty; thick layers of dust settled over every surface. Trixie flipped a switch and the lights clamored to life above her, flickering at first, before settling into a static glow. And Max came staggering in behind her, out of breath, having just returned from the first floor bathroom.

 “You know this one’s out of order,” Max huffed, approaching her, “we shouldn’t be in here! There’s probably asbestos or something!” 

 Max was a gentle soul, with ashen hair and an overwrought smile. She was thin and lanky, much taller than Trixie. She had a familiarity about her though, something Trixie couldn’t quite place.

 Trixie used the palm of her hand to smudge out a clear circle in the dusty mirror, and winced at the sight of her makeup, how her tears had carried mascara down her cheeks and stained her foundation. Max rushed over then, rummaged through her purse, and pulled out a school newspaper. She tore away a bottom edge and blotted the space beneath Trixie’s eyes.

 “We’re gonna get you all fixed up Doll, don’t you worry.”

  _Doll._ The word ricocheted through her, and she was hearing Katya’s voice again. 

  _I didn’t know plastic dollies could use bathroom._

 How could she make light of this? How could Katya stand so tall, so untouched, while Trixie was weak in the knees? Every thought rattled through her, all of the new sights and sounds. Every voice, every blare, boomed in her ears. She wondered what the other girls thought of her, if they’d made any assumptions. 

  _Rumor has it, the professor was having an affair with a female student…_

 Had Katya known she was a student all along? Did she do this to all of her students? How could Katya look at her like that, so confident, so bold? As if she hadn’t seen Trixie bare and unguarded, hadn’t skimmed the surface of her vulnerability?

  _And since you all love talking about my sex life so much, you’ll be happy to know I got laid last night!_

 Everything came flooding back. Fingers in her hair, trailing her ribs, fingers racing everywhere. Mouths colliding, coinciding, like fresh fallen pollen cast over a lake; leaving paths of sticky bright yellow for the doves of morning. Parts of Katya swam in the stream of her blood, and the indelible ink of that night stained the shores bright red, like the lipstick still on her sheets. She pressed into a tender bruise on her chest, and the pain dissolved into her fingertip.

 No. It had to be an accident, sheer coincidence. There’s no way Katya could’ve known she’d be at the bar that night, or who she was for that matter. Trixie took in a breath, and exhaled a long whistle, feebly chewing the inside of her cheek. She could taste blood.

 “Hey wait a moment,” Max said, bringing Trixie from her thoughts. Max continued to gently dust powder over Trixie’s cheeks, “I thought I knew you from somewhere. You’re from Wisconsin aren’t you? Kim’s friend! She’s been going on about you for weeks, I’m Max! We went to the same high school, you and I!” 

 Everything clicked into place for Trixie; and had she been in a less precarious state, she may have even realized sooner. _Max Malanaphy._ A grade below her. Her face flashed red; she was a master at bad first impressions, proficient in making an ass of herself.

 “Well, this is a lovely first interaction! This is so like me! A hot mess, all of the time!” Trixie sighed, a wry smile on her lips. She wiped a runaway tear and began sifting through her purse for mascara, though no amount of makeup could cover the redness; her splotchy cheeks, her tired eyes. The strings tightened. She wished she could call Kim.

 She and Kim had been friends for as long as she could remember. Kim was her rock. The year she’d left for that fancy college in New York--and left Trixie behind--had been more than difficult; and although their friendship sustained itself through texts and phone calls, there was always an end, always a goodbye. After the click, sitting in the vibration of the dial tone, Trixie was always reminded of how starved she was of touch. 

 Kim was always there, except for when she couldn't be. She was supportive almost to her own flaw. Afraid to say no and risk hurting a friend, she often made too many commitments, plans and obligations she just couldn't seem to commit to. And though a softness for Trixie rested within her, it was still a balancing act.

 Trixie ached for a hug then, picturing Kim covered in paint at the art studio. She needed a familiar touch, anything to rid her of Katya’s fingerprints. All of the paint in the world couldn't cover up this blunder. 

 “Don’t sweat it, it happens to the best of us. Anything you’d like to talk about, darling?” Max asked, sweetly. 

 “Not really. But thank you.”

 “Well alright then, let’s get us back to class.”

 Trixie took one last look in the mirror before starting for the door, and held it open for Max. She then maneuvered through the doorway herself; stopping for a moment in the hall to brush dust off of her dress. They rounded the last corridor and paused outside of room 203, where Max turned to face her. Calm undulated through Max like the first breeze of spring, Trixie could almost feel a faint sun on her skin, could almost hear leaves rustling in the trees. She gestured for Trixie to follow her in movement, and took two exaggerated breaths, her hands afloat with the rise and fall of her chest. She gave a gentle nod as if to say, _ready?_ And turned for the door at Trixie’s signal. 

 “Wait! Wait,” Trixie pulled lightly on Max’s arm, turning her around, “Thank you.”

 “ _Anytime_.”

 As they entered, Trixie could feel the blood in her cheeks running too close to the surface. She ducked in, and braced for the eyes she would have to endure on the way to her seat. Much to her surprise, Katya waved them in without so much as a word, and the two of them sat quietly, their entrance unobserved by the class. She was grateful, and relief came in waves, colliding on shores of slowly fading embarrassment. 

 And while Katya rambled on excitedly about chemical nomenclature and the absurdities of chemistry as a whole--

 “This is stupidest fucking class you’re ever going to take.”

 \--Trixie wondered if she’d magnified the situation in her head. It had been a bad habit of hers, still was, always seeing the worst, fearing the worst; she’d packed up and moved the 909 miles from Milwaukee to New York, vowing to leave those facets like tire tracks in the dirt roads behind her. She vowed to bury that part of herself like she had the specters of her past, but they haunted her still, crooning troubled reveries of Milwaukee and what might’ve been.

 Trixie had left her home, at the center of town, and moved the 909 miles to New York. She’d left Sharon’s Grocery on Grove Street; where she’d sit for hours behind the register, watching girls her age straggle in, pushing strollers with toddlers underfoot. She’d left her house on Dogwood Avenue, where they used to pop the tops of johnny pumps and dance in the spray. Azalea's Ice Cream and Chestnut Park, Andy’s Books, and the corner cheese shop. Bicycles, board games, and balloons, floated in the dust behind her. And their images felt like home; or more like a rosetinted dream, slowly, every stalk of corn she passed seemed to bend beneath the weight of what was no longer there. And as her body searched in frenzy for the comfort of home, moments like these almost always brought her back there, back to some distant home she could no longer recognize.

 She removed herself from thought, and her ribcage felt as empty as the cage she had abandoned. 

 She could see from under wet lashes that the students around her were gathering books and rising from their chairs. Her eyes landed then on Katya, whom recumbent in her swivel chair, comedically wore three pairs of safety goggles on the top of her head. Katya caught her glance and grinned aptly in Trixie’s direction.

 “Tracy, we talk for a moment, yes?”

 “Trixie. It’s Trixie.” Trixie stood, and inhaled a shaky breath. Students brushed passed her on their way out, chattering, filling the room with sound and then leaving it flat. 

 “Right, right, _Talullah_ , I’m so sorry.”

 Chewing the inside of her cheek, she met Katya at the head of the class. _Those eyes, that smile, those stupid goggles_. Her stomach somersaulted. 

 “Have a seat?”

 “I’d like to stand if that’s okay.”

 Katya stood to meet Trixie’s eyes, and flipped a small, pleasant nod of her chin.

 “Listen, Tamara-”

 “I’d really prefer it if you called me Trixie,” she interjected.

 “Toby,” Katya’s eyes lit up and she leaned into her words, “I don’t want to get off on wrong lucky rabbit’s foot, I’m sorry if I made you feel red in the face. Trust me, I feel the same as you do probably, maybe worse! Look! I’m very sweaty!”

 Katya rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation and used a stray copy of the syllabus to fan her armpits. Trixie felt a chuckle bubble up her throat, and she eased into the conversation, suddenly a bit calmer.

 “While I enjoyed every possible, steamy, tempestuous moment of last night… This is my job, my livelihood, and I have to remain professional.” Katya fixed a fourth pair of safety goggles to the top of her head, and pursed her lips, “because you know, I am very professional.”

 They both broke into laughter, and Trixie’s face flashed bright red.

 “Look!” Katya chirped, “you are doing red face thing again! Sorry, I ramble! My point is, I care about you, as I would any student, and I want to put this behind us. Start fresh! Maybe we could be good friends, yes?”

 “I think that might be possible.”

 “Ura! We start from scratch! Hello!” Katya extended an open hand and forcefully grabbed Trixie’s, stiffly shaking it, “I’m Katya and I definitely have not seen you naked!”

 “Trixie.” She was feeling lighter, and she’d forgotten all about the strings as they uncoiled.

 “Nice to meet you, Tracy! I will see you tomorrow, yes?”

 “Yeah but before I go,” Trixie prompted, a smile falling on her lips, “I just have one question.”

 “Da, anything! Shoot!” Katya was infectious, and Trixie eased into her, melting into the banter.

 “Is it too late to drop this class?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie continued her view through the binoculars, like she had as a little girl, on camping trips with her father. Her vision bounced over trees and bushes, passed the chickadees and the finches, and landed on a group of small children. All of whom wore bright green shirts, most likely part of some youth group on field trip. They skipped, holding hands, around a taller child who stood in the center of the circle, and fell in unison. Despite her best efforts, Trixie was reminded then of Katya; how she’d mentioned once or twice of the work she did, volunteering with the local daycare on weekends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the flashback, this is just all fluff!! I thought we needed a fluffy little break!! All the fluff!! Get ready for the next chapter tho >:) Happy reading!! 
> 
> I'm hoping to keep updating every weekend, wish me luck! 
> 
> Thank you so so so so much to all of the fucking angels who supported me and my writing!! To anyone who read and supported, thank you so fucking much. Also to Lale and Matilda, idk where I'd be without my bby dog lesbians <3 Lale the literal stepmom to my fic who had to listen to me whine for 8 years before I posted this, and cried with me over fluff!! Thank you thank you thank you. <3

The rain beat hard against the roof of her home, and she could hear the faint sound of water leaking in through the living room skylights. Trixie had always loved the rain, loved the spray on her face, and splashing into puddles; how the ripples would echo out around her galoshes. She loved twisting her fingers in the sopping ringlets that hung by her face, enjoyed seeing how far they could stretch before bouncing back into place.

 There wasn’t much time for puddles anymore, or drawing, or music. There were things that needed to be done, arguments that needed to be had. Besides, the music had left her home long ago, had swirled out of her window one night while she was sleeping, and left her room flat. She woke one day to a deafening silence, and ran to her window in longing. She could swear that in the faint, pink light of morning, she could see the red and orange pathways curl far away from her, stretching symphonies over Wisconsin for other ears. If only she could reach out and touch them, draw them back into her fingertips, so that the sound waves may find her chest and exhume the silence.

 Cacophonies filled and spilled into Trixie’s thoughts like the sunlight of morning, flooding in through the gaps in her blinds. Another morning, another early start, another late night to follow. It was difficult, feeling so caged; but she had to be strong, _someone_ had to. The atmosphere was thick, and Earth’s gravity weighed heavily on her young chest, but she made the usual trudge downstairs for blueberry pancakes.

 It was only then, upon reaching the bottom step, that she saw the stove light, and the digital clock glowing beneath it. _5:03 A.M._ She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and began back up the stairs, pausing for a moment outside of her mother’s room, the door ajar.

 “I don’t know where the fuck you are, or what you’re doing, but I’ve been up all night leaving messages. This is the third night in a row, please… Just fucking come home, answer your phone. I bet you’re drunk… and that whore, that fucking whore, you’re fucking h- Trixie!”

 Their eyes met through the doorway and Trixie startled at her mother’s voice.

 “Your daughter’s here, she shouldn’t have to see me like this,” sobs caught in her mother’s throat, “this is your fault, your fault she’s seeing this. Trixie, come here!” Trixie’s mother slammed the phone shut and ushered her in. 

 “What’s happening?” A single tear fell down Trixie’s cheek.

 “Trixie, I need you to do this one thing for mommy, okay?” 

 She got down to Trixie’s level, and her breath was sour with alcohol. Trixie winced at the strength of her mother’s grip. Her eyes were crazed.

 “I need you to cry-to call your father, maybe he’ll listen to you… Make it sound really good, like you’re really sad! Can you do that for mommy? He’s hurting us, he’s hurting you… don’t you want him to know how much he’s hurting you? Hurting me! You can’t let him do that to me, Trixie! It isn’t fair of you…”

 Trixie’s mother used to make blueberry pancakes every Sunday morning, but always mixed way too many blueberries into the batter. _She didn’t anymore._

 

\---

 

The weeks carried on, the way weeks often did, evolving into months. And those first few months were a whirlwind, but Trixie took solace in routine.

 She was eating breakfast again these days, and though she avoided the blueberries, she enjoyed her mornings with Pearl. They’d tuck themselves away in the kitchen for hours, and try new recipes, though most of them wouldn’t go over as planned. Most mornings ended in rumbling stomachs perched together in the window seat, Trixie hanging over Pearl’s sketchbook until Kim came knocking and forced her into proper clothes.

 Then off to university, the knot in her stomach shrinking slowly, day by day. She was getting the hang of this thing, excited for Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays, when Kim could hang back, and walk with her to Class one. Comfortable with Wednesdays and Thursdays, when Kim fled to the art studio, and Jinkx filled her thoughts with the latest happenings of the student body. 

 Wednesdays could be a bit tricky, as could Thursdays, but not because of Jinkx, _no_. Actually, Trixie had grown quite fond of Jinkx; she admired her passion, and her drive. Jinkx had an innate way of making the most mundane affairs seem riveting, it had to have been something in the way she spoke, the way her words hung in the air with gusto. Her laugh, while comforting and familiar, commanded attention, and Trixie would often kid that Jinkx could make even the classifieds section of the newspaper sound interesting. 

 Wednesdays and Thursdays came with their own set of issues; _Katya._ They’d long since moved past that awkward first encounter, but there were still moments that plagued Trixie, still words that caught in her throat. They’d reached some level of professional rapport; but much to Trixie’s dismay, she too frequently found herself following the contours of Katya’s body with her eyes, or remembering the way she tasted. Her in-class daydreams swelled with the rhythm of Katya’s hips as she scrawled across the whiteboard, the sweet temptation of her scarlet lips as she read the periodic table. 

 Despite the enticing escape of dreams, a certain softness for Katya had grown inside of Trixie. And Trixie realized then, quite quickly and unexpectedly, how something could be both crazy and brilliant all at once; how those two could marry and craft a person. Could craft _Katya._

 

\---

 

Hopefully, a weekend out would be all she needed to rehone her thoughts, and no amount of towering homework was going to stop her. 

 The lot of them piled into Kim’s Jeep; Violet calling shotgun, while Trixie and Pearl sat thigh to thigh in the back, pressed against the bulk of Kim’s art supplies and dress patterns. Kim and Trixie groaned in unison as Violet puffed on a freshly lit cigarette, and passed it backward to Pearl. Ducking to avoid the smoke, Trixie cranked down her window, and allowed the fall breeze to tousle the curls hanging by her cheeks.

 The roads along the Hudson Valley were long and winding; relentlessly hilly as they bent around the great orange trees of autumn. It was a hazy day, and the sun peaked meekly through veins of branches, leaving shadowy intricacies skipping across the skin of her face. Trixie couldn’t get enough. Trixie watched the blur of orange and green fly by her window; she closed her eyes, lost in a dreamy world of unspoken words, and rested her forehead against the cool glass. Jovial chatter filled the space, words bounced between Pearl and Violet. 

 As Kim sped up, the wind snapped at Trixie’s closed eyelids, and she fought the urge to close the crack in her window; lest she let the smoke build and cause a commotion. Pearl passed the cigarette forward, and her free hand wandered to the space between them, coming to rest against Trixie’s thigh. Trixie softly ran her fingers over Pearl’s arm in response. _Sleepy._ _Happy_.

 The car came to an eventual stop, and while Kim quieted the engine, Trixie pulled her hair back into a wispy ponytail. They climbed out excitedly, the soles of their shoes crunching leaves and snapping twigs. Trixie saddled the picnic basket over her forearm and sped up slightly, to keep pace with Pearl and Violet. The soft, fleshy insides of her thighs rubbed together, but she couldn’t care any less, she felt happy and free in her yellow sundress. 

 “Can you guys help me with this,” Kim called after them, having advanced to their usual spot beneath a massive oak. At fault of the wind, she stood tangled in a tartan blanket she’d been trying to lay flat. 

 Pearl collapsed into giggles against Kim, and she tried, albeit not very hard, to pull the blanket from her limbs. They erupted into laughter, and thwarted desperately to smooth it down against the Earth. Each corner fluttered, upended by the wind, and the girls played Twister trying to keep it flat; a right hand on this corner, and a left foot on that. 

 “Can someone bring me like,” Pearl threw herself down, her arms and legs splayed across the blanket, keeping it in place, “like four, really big rocks?”

 

\---

 

Once the blanket had been secured, and the sandwiches distributed (Turkey for Kim, Pearl, and Violet, Peanut Butter for Trixie), the girls each took to their own little niche. Pearl and Kim perched against the tree, heads hung over sketchbooks, and Violet with her head in Trixie’s lap, her legs tucked under Pearl’s jacket. Trixie ran her fingers through Violet’s dark hair.

 “And what kind is that?” Violet smiled, pointing into a brush of trees.

 Violet handed Trixie the binoculars, and she squinted into them.

 “A _downy_ woodpecker. The smallest kind in North America.”

 “And that?” She pointed off in another direction.

 “I’m not really sure, the small ones? Um, sparrows probably...”

 “And those, over there, look!” Violet used both hands to turn Trixie’s head, “On that post!”

 “Slow down!” Trixie screwed up her eyes, “Phoebes!”

 “Trixie, those are the ones that make the funny noise, right? Can you please make the funny noise?”

 Trixie lowered her voice into a nasally, apathetic grumble.

 “Fee-BEE. Fee-BEEEEE.”

 Kim and Pearl peered up briefly from their sketchbooks, and fell into laughter, while Violet’s hands rose to meet Trixie’s face, pinching her cheeks. Pearl passed Trixie the carton of strawberries, and she plucked one for herself, big and red. She let her teeth sink in, and her mouth filled with juicy sweetness; she eyed around the blanket, in search of her cider.

 “You’re my favorite, Trixie,” Violet whispered, a smile playing on her lips, “I’m so glad you came to live with us. Now if only we could find some way to get rid of Pearl, then everything would be perfect…” 

 “OKAY, BITCH,” Pearl interjected, a flash of spirit across her face. 

 Trixie continued her view through the binoculars, like she had as a little girl, on camping trips with her father. Her vision bounced over trees and bushes, passed the chickadees and the finches, and landed on a group of small children. All of whom wore bright green shirts, most likely part of some youth group on field trip. They skipped, holding hands, around a taller child who stood in the center of the circle, and fell in unison. Despite her best efforts, Trixie was reminded then of Katya; how she’d mentioned once or twice of the work she did, volunteering with the local daycare on weekends. 

 Trixie imagined her, thin and nimble, blonde locks cascading down her back, falling over her pointed shoulders. She could almost hear Katya’s laughter, see her, playing tag with the children and tumbling into somersaults across the grass. She was quite strong, and bold, but had a childlike air about her. And Trixie wanted so fiercely to be part of her world, to bask in the warm glow of Katya’s kindness, so that some ounce of that cloying, candied tenderness may seep into her bloodstream. She wanted to touch her again, hold her, wanted to see her face illuminated in morning. 

 Kim’s big mouth pulled her from thought.

 “Hey Trix, isn’t that your GIRLFRIEND? Over there, with those babies!” 

 She hadn’t imagined anything. Her insides twisted. 

 “Oh, my god! You’re blushing, oh my god! What’s her name?” Violet shrieked. 

 “She’s not my girlfriend! I hardly even know her,” Trixie’s body tensed, reduced to whining, “ _Katya_.”

 “HEY KATYA,” Violet cupped both hands around her mouth, “KATYA, COME HERE!”

 “SHHHH!” Trixie clamped a hand over Violet’s mouth. 

 Katya’s head shot up, and she came jogging toward them, strands of hair playing down her face. There she was, real as the day. She was smiling. She was _beautiful._

 “You clown! You big idiot! Now look what you’ve done, she’s my profe- Katya! Hi… funny seeing you here! No safety goggles today?” She removed her hand from Violet’s lips, and wiped purple lipstick from her palm. She could feel her face heat up. _Idiot._

 “Privet, Tracy! I was just thinking same thing! это маленький мир. That is beautiful dress Tallulah, yellow suits you nicely.” 

 The cider on her tongue went sour, the cinnamon stinging as she bit into her bottom lip. Trixie could do nothing but smile, her brain grasping at words, filing through sentences; and the silence lingered on just a bit too long. _Say something._

 “Trixie was just telling me how much she loves that shade of lipstick you’re wearing! What’s it called?” Kim chirped, mischievously, smirking in Trixie’s direction. Trixie threw her an exasperated glare.

 “Oh was she?” Katya raised an eyebrow, “I believe it is called _Masochist_. It is my favorite.”

 Trixie’s skin vibrated. _Masochist. That she was._

 Some occurrence on the opposite end of the park had Katya twisting her upper body away from them, and Trixie positively melted into the way Katya’s skirt rode up her thighs. Her hair was golden against the oranges and yellows, her lipstick stark, contrasting her pale skin. Trixie could swear the sun rose every morning just to glide over Katya’s skin. 

 “Ura! Well, it would appear as though bus has arrived for the small children, can’t have it leave without me! Was nice seeing you Tamara, and all of these lovely friends you failed to introduce me to! See you Wednesday! Da svidaniya, chickens!” And with that, Katya was gone, just as fast as she had arrived.

 The girls all turned to face Trixie as Katya bounced away from them, and she sunk beneath the weight of their eyes. Pearl broke the silence.

 “TRACY, YOU FUCKING DORK,” Pearl taunted, holding her belly in laughter, “Your face is so red! Could you be more obvious?”

 “Please don’t call me that!”

 “WHO’S TALLULAH? WHO IS SHE?” 

  _"Katya, hi! Funny seeing you here! Oh-ho-ho-ho! Fuck me with your safety goggles,”_ Violet exaggerated, her best impression of Trixie.

 Trixie covered Violet’s face with Pearl’s jacket and broke out into a stream of nervous laughter, her cheeks still bright red with embarrassment. She could feel her spirit slowly returning to land; with Katya gone, she could feel words on her tongue again. 

 “Stop it! All of you!” Trixie howled, her head in her hands, “It’s not like that, she’s my professor!”

 “Oh girl… girl, you are so fucked,” Violet mumbled from beneath the jacket.

 And it was true. She was, so completely and utterly _fucked._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They laughed in unison; Katya’s laugh a little too great for the moment. And Katya slipped off her lab coat, folding it over one arm, before throwing it over the edge of the desk. As she did this, the fabric teased down her shoulder. Trixie’s heart skipped a beat. The A-line of Katya's dress cut into the sharp indentation of her collarbone, the red brightly contrasting her creamy shoulders. And the space between them dwindled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough couple of weeks trying to get this chapter out, and I would not have been able to do it without the love of my sweet sweet overseas clone, [Lale.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallale) Please all take a second of your day to read her beautiful work, especially the [12,000 word fIC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11178759) sHE WROTe FOR MeE. Also much thanks to [Matilda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matilda_queen) for being a precious bean as well!! I love you both to the ends of the Earth, my little chickens.
> 
> As always, thank you for the kind words, your comments and kudos really keep me going. Enjoy this next chapter bc shit is about to hit the fan. :)
> 
> My Tumblr: [DahliasForKatya](http://dahliasforkatya.tumblr.com/)
> 
> \---

Her father’s truck was a bit older now, but just as beautiful and grand as the first time she’d seen it. She loved the metallic red paint, how it glittered in the sun; the smooth beige seats, and how her thighs, sticky with sweat, would adhere to the leather on hot days. She’d never forget the day he’d first brought it home, how foreign it looked in the driveway, how new and exciting.

Her mother had been jealous of it, of course, as she had with most things; resigned herself to the den with some remark about a whirlwind romance between him and the OnStar lady. Trixie liked it though, loved it, especially the DVD player he’d had installed just for her. It felt like home, a feeling that was ever fleeting those days.

The truck felt different with _her_ riding shotgun, _that woman_ . The woman she’d seen around at company barbeques, and holiday parties. It was okay though, they weren’t doing anything wrong, just giving her a ride home. After all, the barbeque _had_ gone on later than usual, and she was probably just too tired to drive herself home. Probably just too drunk, they both were. Trixie could see her father’s sunken eyes in the reflection of the rear view mirror, and she worried then of her mother, pictured her still awake, counting minutes on her fingers. Trixie wondered how late they’d be back this time, if there’d be hell to pay when they got home.

The moon hung low in the sky, full and bright, and her eyes constructed images around its yellow glow. A suspension of ropes and pulleys, ticking gears and thudding sandbags; she imagined, risen each night by some stagehand, sheathed in darkness. Quite like the rise and fall of her chest, hollowed, with its own network of webbed intricacies, and backstage operators. Every thought that passed through her suspending some great disbelief.

And then _it_ _happened_ , simple and absent mindedly, _it happened_. She witnessed her father’s hand drift across the center console, slide up _her_ knee, and come to rest on the bulk of _her_ thigh. And everything shattered, like a picture frame torn from the wall, a crack down the center of their family portrait. Fevered tears broke havoc against the sweet swell of her pink cheeks, streaming off of her chin, tangling in her hair. Every lie Trixie had ever told herself, told her mother, dissolved into the break of dawn.

On ceaseless nights, when sour thoughts kept her awake, she could still hear his voice, soft and sweet, like a whisper; could still see his face, half shaded under the flickering glow of the porch light.

_2:01 A.M. A school night._

“I’m just gonna make sure she gets home okay, alright? But I might not be home until really late, so don’t get worried. Go right to bed, don’t wait up. If she asks, just tell your mama that I crashed at Ben’s house. You wouldn’t want her thinking anything funny, right? That would just make us fight more, _and I know you don’t want that._ ”

She waited up anyway. He hadn’t come home, _again_.

 

\---

 

A cooling dew lingered in the grass well into late morning, a damp thickness clinging to the sparse brown leaves overhead. And as the sun--intermittently veiled, bestrewn with foreboding storm clouds--continued its curvature across the early November sky, the crests of the Catskills faded into a soft, foggy gray. The usual birds of sunrise, still tucked away in their dens, nestled quietly into the faint whisper of calm. And through strained ears, Trixie leaned outward to listen, to the finches and rain doves, chattering happily into the wake like friendly beacons. She smiled warmly from the front window, pulled on a cardigan, and sent silent thanks to Violet for refilling the bird feeders like she’d asked.

Trixie stepped off of her front porch and into the light of morning; she paused for a moment, allowed the mist to settle into her lungs, and started down the drive. Kim’s car sat idling, parallel the sidewalk, and clouds of exhaust billowed from its tailpipe, swirling into streams of daylight. She bounced down the wooden steps, and as the screen door swayed shut, thoughts of Katya, quite like beads of water, evanesced into the air.

A weekend of rumination, of sunlight and crisp autumn air, had brought her to a few conclusions, and she settled into them, calm and ready. It was a new day, a fresh start. Things would be different, they had to be.

 

_4 missed calls._

 

Kim greeted her with a sleepy smile, and they made their way to the university. Waves of bleary eyed students filtered in and out of cars in a revolving shuffle, and Trixie was resentful toward Kim for dragging her out of bed so early. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, careful around her mascara, parted ways with Kim, and set off for something to fill the hours before her first class.

“Trixie, darling!” a familiar voice called from across the quad, “Kim was just telling me that you’re a bird nerd like me!”

Trixie pivoted her upper body to find Max, standing excitedly by the marble steps of the front entrance, waving around a stack of flyers. She stood beneath a small gray umbrella, and her hair seemed almost lighter in the overcast, her skin, pale and unblemished. Trixie took comfort in her warmth, found shelter from the rain in her kind eyes; rainy days suited her.

“A bird nerd?” Trixie smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Forgive me, do you prefer ornithologist in training?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call myself an ornithologist, but I like bird watching.”

“My apologies! Might I say, you’d be perfect for our bird watching club. We meet every Friday.”

Max extended a flyer to Trixie, it read across the top, in looping cursive: **_Live and Let Fly_ ** **.**

“I highly _wren-commend_ it,” Max continued, “It’s a real _hoot_ , but by all means, take some time and really _gull_ it over.”

They paused for a moment, a beat resting between them, before falling into laughter.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. Promise you’ll still attend?” Max said, red in the face.

“Of course I will, I wouldn’t want to _ruffle your feathers.”_ Trixie grinned.

The girls laughed while thoughts of sanctuary echoed through her, and despite those dark hours, when loneliness crowded the lull of her exhale, she felt safe here, at _home._ She found friends who suited her, soothed her, jokes that made her laugh; but she was wary, things like home, safety, loomed like a cruel and efficient saboteur. She rose with the sun each morning, just on the cusp of daybreak, knowing that if she’d only risen a few moments sooner, her room would still rest in darkness.

 

\---

 

As the afternoon progressed, dark storm clouds closed the sky and rain beat hard against the windows of her chemistry classroom. She sat lost in daydream, and the hours passed happily, her ears savoring the sweet drum of downpour from her cozy spot indoors. She worried then of how she’d make it to Kim’s car without an umbrella, but decided to pay it little mind.

“Well, it would look as though we are finished!” Katya beamed, Wednesday having come and gone with ease, “I expect those papers by Friday. So make like little ants on ground and work, mama, work. Get. It. Done.” She stood from her swivel chair at the head of the class, made her way to the door, and clasped her hands together, watching as students trickled out.

“Rain is like cats and dogs, get home safe little ants, crawl on home!” she called after them.

Trixie smiled as she brushed passed Katya on her way out the door; her hair was much longer than it had been at the start of the year, but her lectures grew shorter and shorter by the day. Instead, she delved deeper into projects and labs, which the class preferred; Trixie being the exception. Katya had such ardor for her work, such an encompassing enthusiasm. And Trixie could listen to her speak for hours, wanting nothing more than to cocoon herself in that Russian curl.

“Tracy! One second, I speak to you?”

Trixie blushed, stopping in her tracks, and Katya waited for the room to clear before speaking.

“Your last lab,” she began, beaming, “The notes were so... extensive! So spirited. You are such strong writer.”

“Really?” Trixie’s breath hitched in her chest as Katya’s soft eyes came to rest on hers. Bird songs outside the second floor window rang in her ears, instinctively, she plucked out the staccato trilling of nearby chickadees. She settled into the chatter, looked down at her hands, and then to Katya’s pointed pumps. The tips of their toes faced each other, and Trixie peered up from under painted lashes, unable to escape the shy smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Katya still had the impression of rimmed safety goggles outlining her eyes.

“It is quite welcome change from the usual drone, maybe you could give Roxxxy a few pointers?”

“That bad, huh?” Trixie grinned, her body leaning inward.

“Have you ever watched the corpse of a tiny, hairy pig slowly decay?”

They laughed in unison; Katya’s laugh a little too great for the moment. And Katya slipped off her lab coat, folding it over one arm, before throwing it over the edge of the desk. As she did this, the fabric teased down her shoulder. Trixie’s heart skipped a beat. The A-line of Katya's dress cut into the sharp indentation of her collarbone, the red brightly contrasting her creamy shoulders. And the space between them dwindled.

“I should get going, Kim’s probably waiting for me… she doesn’t like the rain, she’s always afraid it’ll mess up her makeup.”

The words left Trixie’s lips a bit breathier than she’d intended.

“I’m glad we can talk like this, I like you. I want you to feel comfortable around me,” she said, stale cigarettes and dirty chai leaving her tongue, “see you tomorrow, Tallulah?”

“Tomorrow,” she smiled.

She waited for Katya to collect her folders, albeit longer than she’d expected to, as Katya slovenly sifted through the clutter. Trixie held out the door for her, and the scent of cardamom crept out of Katya’s empty coffee cup from where it perched against her ribcage, pressed into the crook of her elbow; Trixie would miss the lingering twist of clove when they parted ways.

 

\---

 

Trixie swiped a school paper from the welcome desk, and held it over her head, braving the downpour. She scurried to Kim’s usual parking spot, to find that another car had taken its place. Trixie pressed a protective hand to her forehead in an attempt to shelter her mascara. Her eyes wandered across the parking lot, stopping on every idling car. She peered down at her dress, noticing that the cotton had gone sheer under the weight of the rain. There had been a tree close by, just tall enough for Trixie to duck under, and she did, though the rain persisted steadily through the branches. Her phone screen dotted with small beads of water as she pulled it from her purse and opened their group chat.

 

_Trixie: Bitch where are you??? It’s pouring??? I could win a wet t-shirt contest tbh_

_Kim: oh_

_Kim: MY_

_Kim: GOD_

_Trixie: WHAT_

_Kim: girl I’m so sorry, so sorry. I promised Jinkx a ride to the secondary exhibition tonight and I totally forgot to tell you…_

_Jinkx: Sorry girl! I had no idea!_

_Trixie: FUCK. can you please let me know these things ahead of time?? Idk like maybe one of the 40,000 times I saw you today?????????????????????_

_Pearl: OKAY QUESTION MARKS._

_Kim: I said sorry, can I call you a cab?_

_Trixie: don’t worry about it, it’s okay. I’ll get an Uber or something._

_Kim: I love you!!_

_Trixie: Ily2_

It wasn’t okay, but Trixie couldn't be upset for long. Kim meant well, she always had. Her commitments were just piled too high, her inhibitions stretched thin, and Trixie couldn’t blame her for being scatterbrained. Trixie wiped her phone screen with the already dampened edge of her dress and tucked it beneath her palm, hopeful that water wouldn’t seep into the speakers. The blaring trill of someone laying on their horn made small hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“Tamara! You’re dripping wet, chicken. Is that rain water, or are you just really happy to see me?” Katya called, hanging her head out of the car window. Her wood-panelled station wagon seethed under a canopy of trees, and thick exhaust clouded heavily into the fog while water sheeted down the rear windows.

“What?” Trixie shouted back over the roar of the engine, squinting through the rain.

“Where’s your ride?”

“Don’t have one!”

“Get in loser!”

Trixie hesitated for a moment, then hurried to the passenger’s side. The handle resisted a bit at first, her fingers slick against the metal, but gave in under her grasp, and the door opened with a long, creaking groan. She tossed her bag over the front seat, and into the back, throwing her bottom down onto the cracked leather. As she slammed the door shut, empty coffee cups and fast food wrappers upended beneath her feet, crunching beneath her boots.

Trixie paused to eye Katya in the driver’s seat, and the image of her fit so naturally. Her cheeks warmed.

“Thank you… So much, really. I was like a drowned rat out there!” Trixie offered, smoothing the skirt of her dress down around her thighs. The fabric wrinkled together in sopping bunches and matted ringlets of hair pressed flat against her face, streaming tears of rainwater down her skin. Trixie looked down at her soaked clothing, and tried to conceal the lace of her bra, more so the hard push of her nipples through the sheer of the fabric. Though she was relieved to be safe from the rain, a chill ran through her.

“Da, a drowned rat! But one of those pretty, award winning rats, like from the reality TV shows! Glamorous trash rat, you are!” Katya wheezed into laughter.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Trixie lilted in response.

Katya pulled the car out of park, eased her foot onto the gas, and the car jerked forward. Trixie, wide eyed and slightly panicked, made haste fastening her seatbelt.

“You’ve never seen Rat Wars?” Katya turned to face Trixie, excitedly,  “It was such big deal where I’m from! Mama Zamolodchikova was GAGGED when little Vinny got disquali-”

“Watch where you’re going!” Trixie shouted over her.

Katya made a sudden, exaggerated swerve around a group of pedestrians, just missing them, and they glared up at her from underneath colorful umbrellas. Katya continued on, completely unaffected.

“ANYWAY, it’s wild! People take their rats very seriously. There’s so many varieties!” 

Trixie’s phone screen lit up; _11 missed calls._ She pushed passed the notification.

 

_Trixie: THANKS A LOT. Now I’m in a car with this FREAK._

_Kim: omg who_

_Trixie: K a t y a_

_Pearl: OH SHIT SOMEBODY’S GETTIN LAID TONIGHT I HOPE YOU SHAVED GIRL_

_Trixie: pls die_

 

A swell of Russian folk music resonated softly from the tinny speakers, and Katya sent a hand to the dial, quieting it.

“You know, it isn’t nice, telling your friends to die. Now please, tell this _freak_ where you live so we can get your soggy ass off my leather seats,” Katya beamed, proudly.

“OKAY.” Trixie mused, “If you could not read my texts, that'd be super cool! To be honest, you being a freak isn't really a surprise to anyone though. It's kind of common knowledge at this point.”

“You would know better than anyone…” Katya eyed her suggestively, raising an eyebrow, “actually, you don't have to tell me where you live _, I remember.”_

“Can you please keep your eyes on the road, _freak_.” Trixie’s face flushed.

“Sure thing, Tracy.”

Katya made a few wrong turns but managed to find Trixie’s house, and the car puttered to a stop, lurching forward as she put it in park.

Trixie turned to face her, her cheeks a soft pink. They rested in the quiet for what felt like centuries, their eyes making and breaking contact. Without looking down, Trixie picked at the chipped edge of her manicure.

“Thank you, for the ride, really, I appreciate it… Hey,  wanna come inside?” she offered nervously, “I can put on a pot of coffee, or whatever it is creatures like you live off of.”

“I would,” Katya paused to curate an excuse, “but... I have some work with small children to attend to. Another time, perhaps?”

“Sure thing.”

She faltered for a moment, and an uneasy silence snuck in between them. Embarrassment flooded Trixie’s bloodstream, pooling hot and harsh in her temples. She couldn't believe she’d really said that to her professor, and looking back, the entirety of their conversation felt suddenly inappropriate. Had she pushed too far, made Katya uncomfortable? A small sickness blossomed within her.

She scanned Katya’s face, searching for something, anything, a hint of remorse. Instead of unease, she found simmering tension, a whisper of regret even. Trixie could feel the gravity between them, almost palpable, pulling them closer like magnets.

“You know Tracy… I really enjoy having you.”

“Having me?” Trixie leaned in, whispering softly, her words close to Katya’s lips. She couldn't help herself. Their mouths were close, their noses closer, but not quite touching.

Katya’s face flushed, her eyelashes fluttering closed.

“As a student, I mean. I mean, you know what I mean.” Her eyebrows raised, her eyes still shut.

They teetered there, in that space together, and fog ballooned across the windows around them; they were almost touching, _almost_.

Trixie wrestled herself away from Katya’s allure, wishing she had instead just closed the space between them. She inhaled a shaky breath, steadying herself. Her shoulders shook on the exhale, like a leaf fallen in last year’s sky, wavering to the concrete, waiting to be flattened by unforgiving shoes.

“I'll see you tomorrow, da?” Katya half whispered, her lips still startlingly close to Trixie’s.

Trixie could feel the blood leave her face, could hear it then, pounding in her ears.

“Tomorrow,” she replied.

Unbeknownst to Trixie, her purse lay forgotten in the back seat, looming, like Cinderella’s glass slipper on the staircase.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There she was, hellbent and devilish, her hair tied up into a messy french twist. She was bent over the edge of the desk, brilliant eyes narrowed on a stack of papers at the far end, and as her body straightened upright, Trixie lost all sense of awareness. Hips and thighs, wrapped criminally in a tight pencil skirt, red glasses, red shoes, _red lips_. Katya’s heels clicked across the tiled floor, and Trixie, blocking the doorway, could practically feel Katya walking all over her chest. Katya moved toward the coat rack, and pulled on her lab coat slowly, smoothing the fabric down around her waist. Those hands, those soft, fervent hands, trailed passed the back of her skirt, and followed the contours of her body down the length of the coat. And Katya paused for a moment, her eyes meeting Trixie’s, allowing a fiendish smile to befall her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I'm trash and keep saying I'm gonna post things and then posting them late!!!!! ANYWAY, I slaved over this chapter, but it literally WOULD NOT have gotten done without [ArtificialLale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallale/) helping me navigate the ENTIRE exposition, thank you from the bottom the of my soul, sweet angel. And thank you [Matilda_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matilda_queen) for being such a sweet lady, and my BABY BROTHER [Dannyohd](https://dannyohd.tumblr.com/) for being PRECIOUS always.

Words flew around the room like picture frames thrown from her mother’s grasp, shattered images and broken glass. Bright lights, headlights, leaving, pulling out of the driveway and peeling down the dark street.  _ Leaving. _ One left physically, while the other emotionally, leaving Trixie orphaned among the ruins of her home. And with no one around to tell her to be careful around the sharp edges, she found herself falling, skinning her palms and knees.

_ “This is your fault, you knew about this. You let him destroy me, like I’m some kind of fool. _ ”

Trixie could not recount how many times she had covered for him, how many lies had threaded out of her in those two years, stitching new truths down the patchwork of her wrinkled clothing. She’d convinced herself it was better that way, no, maybe he’d convinced her. Either way, she couldn’t tell. Her life had become so dizzied, that most days, she found herself tripping over the words that had been fed to her. Maybe, just maybe, she’d spent so long denying her mother the truth, that she’d begun to deny it herself; but like most lies, too big and too grand to keep track of, the truth was a cruel inevitability.

_ "How could you be so stupid? What kind of daughter are you?” _

All of those years spent as a pawn in her parents marriage had never made her any better at chess, or anything she might’ve liked, like singing, or birdwatching. She did however, become proficient in operating the inner workings of her broken home. She became a duplicitous messenger, choice words echoing through her as she traveled from one parent to the other.

_ “We have to leave, we have to leave here. He’s letting it foreclose, he’s letting the house foreclose. I’ve got nothing left Trixie, I’ve got nothing left to give you.” _

She hadn’t asked for much. And most nights, she felt contented in the hunger, both the emotional and physical. The reaping weight of her mother’s illness crept inside her bones, nestled in between the stuffed bears and plastic dollies; and she grew hollow, barely sustained.

“ _ Men are pigs. All he cares about is getting laid. He doesn’t care about you Trixie, as long as he has his little slut, he doesn’t care.” _

Years flew by as mistress became misses. A marriage proposal, a new step-family, a big shiny house in the suburbs with a yard for the dog. He was still around, for holidays and weekends, summer vacations from grade six, all the way up to grade ten. And despite the toxic sting of her mother’s words, Trixie secretly relaxed into those weekends of peace; without her mother’s near constant lamenting, where Trixie could pretend to be anybody but herself. And while her father progressed, satisfied with his new lodgings, her mother regressed, an empty shell of the mother she once was.

_ "Trixie please, I didn’t mean that. No one wants me, please Trixie don’t cry, please, don’t leave me, you’re all I have left.” _

And Trixie found herself at fifteen years old, unable to abandon her mother, staring foreclosure in the face.

  
  


\---

  
  


Her dreams twisted with the seductive hook of Katya’s stare, a glaring reflection of her own needs and wants. And an aching necessity nestled in between her fingers, the spaces crying out, desperate for fulfillment. It had taken every ounce of Trixie’s willpower not touch her lips again, to taste them. She sat imagining the espresso on her tongue, overwhelmed by those ruby lipped, cardamom fantasies; and the taste of Katya’s morning cigarette still fresh on her full lips, stale by midafternoon. She hoped and prayed reality could carry her there, to that place, in those sparse moments where actuality dwindled. 

Trixie bit into a crisp cortland apple, ripe with the season, and it’s juicy fullness issued from the corners of her mouth. She upturned them, pulled them into a grin at the sight of Katya, on the tips of her toes, reaching to scrawl across the top of the board. The skirt of her dress rode up, just above the knees, and Trixie willed it with her eyes, implored it to keep rising.

As her top teeth continued to skim across the skin of the apple, Katya turned to eye her, and shot a disapproving glance. Katya had reminded her time and again that there was to be no eating in class, but Trixie liked to test boundaries lately; being teacher’s favorite had its perks. She winked in response, and sunk her teeth in, the bright red clashing with the pink of her lips. Trixie let her tongue tease down the surface of the fruit, catching tart pearls of juice that trickled down. And Katya, flustered, turned away from her, while a certain, giddy pride rose in Trixie’s chest.

She wondered how long they could keep up this charade before people started to notice; Trixie stopped for a moment to scan the room, but instead of watching eyes, she was met with drooping faces and bowed heads. Typical for an afternoon class, as the caffeine crash was likely to have just settled in. Relieved, she continued her pursuit on the apple, losing herself in Katya’s words.

She lost a lot of herself in those days, she felt different somehow, changed.

 

_ 1 missed call. _

 

On her way out of class, she tossed it’s core in a nearby bin, and licked the sticky sweetness from her fingers. Katya flagged her down, catching her halfway down the hall, and Trixie turned to face her, pulling her index finger slowly from parted lips. Trixie could see the frenzy in her eyes, could feel the tension rising from the taut pull of Katya’s lean thighs. She let her eyes wander down, and then back up, smirking.

“Is this gonna become habit for you, you stopping me after every class?”

“Probably.”

“I’m okay with that,” Trixie offered, leaning in a bit closer.

“I didn’t ask your permission.”

Katya smirked into her words, her fingers drumming against the binder she’d tucked under her arm. And Trixie, near weak in the knees, tried her best to keep upright, the sheer of her flirtation fading into blushed cheeks.

“I stopped you because I thought you may want your purse back,” Katya continued.

“My purse?”

“Yes, yesterday, my little glamorous trash rat, you leave it in my backseat! You don’t notice?”

She’d been so caught up in fantasy that she’d hardly noticed its absence from her shoulder. Hot nerves prickled beneath her skin as she kept time with Katya’s steps, and she looked down at her shoes, lest she trip and embarrass herself further.

“Right! Right, my purse. Well, lead the way, freak.”

“You know, Tina, you really should treat me with more respect. With that paper due Friday, it would seem as though I have much power over you.”

“Well, lucky for you, I have a thing for submission.”

Trixie regret the words immediately as they left her lips, and suddenly, she could feel Katya’s excited eyes on her cheeks. Attempting to conceal the redness, Trixie’s hands met her own face in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” Trixie mouthed, reeling, “I- I don’t know why I said that.”

“Has anyone ever told you, you’re a huge dork, Tracy?”

“Pretty much my whole life, yeah.”

They headed down the hall, passed the third corridor, and hooked a right just before the marble steps. Trixie sped up ahead of her, but instead of catching the door, she stopped, slowed.  She paused for a moment before the threshold, allowing Katya to breeze passed her, and as she did, Trixie quietly took in Katya’s perfume; warm notes of tobacco and cinnamon crept into the airspace around her. And Katya, a bit shorter than she, held out the door while Trixie ducked under her arm with a brief nod of thanks.

With home tucked far away, in recesses of her mind, she came to a startling realization. Things really were changing, a revolution had been raging all of this time unnoticed,  just beneath the surface of her skin. It had been such a simple thing, but rang magnificent then, in that small space with Katya. She’d spent her entire life opening doors for other people; and as she stepped down the stairs into the sunlight, the thought occurred to her. If the sun could love her skin, why couldn’t she? If she could put others before her, why not herself?

 

She looked down at her phone,  _ 3 missed calls.  _

 

As they approached Katya’s car, under cover of trees at the far end of the professor’s lot, she was reminded of how improper it all was, and conflict echoed through her; but somehow, rounding the passenger’s side and leaning against the warped metal, a sense of comfort washed over her. Leaving class with Katya, perfumed in her surrounding, felt as natural as breathing. 

“Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Katya said, her arms flying up into the air.

“Yeah, your car is a piece of shit. You should do something about that,” Trixie retorted.

“No, not the car, you chicken! Leave Barbara alone, she is real strong dyke and she does not need your sass.”

“What, then?”

“Your purse, I’m very sorry, Toby,” she feigned, the back of her hand to her forehead, “I must’ve... brought it in house and forgotten it! Silly me!”

“Oh right, you,” Trixie pulled her fingers into quotations, grinning from ear to ear, “forgot it. Completely on accident.”

“I am just big dumb girl!”

Katya paused for a moment, her exasperation curling into a smile, and she walked around the side of the car, throwing herself into the driver’s seat. She shoved her key in the ignition and it thundered to life; leaning across the center console, her gleaming smile appeared from behind the sinking window.

“Seeing as we are both here now,” she continued, “I might as well give you ride home. I’m sure my girl Barb missed your ass on her seats.”

“How convenient,” Trixie said, pulling the car door open before her.

She slid in smoothly, kicking garbage out from underneath her feet.

“I will remember to bring purse of yours tomorrow, it is promise!”

“I won’t hold my breath.”

 

\---

  
  


The night had been long and riddled with thoughts of Katya as Trixie lie awake, counting the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling. She could still see their ghostly glow behind her eyelids, could still feel the twinge of tainted dreams and ill conceived wishes. Her thoughts were cruel, but wise. If she was to make it through this year, she had stop willing the stars to shoot across her ceiling, because no amount of wishing was going to bring Katya back into her arms. She had her college career to think about, Katya’s career, and with a bold new dawn, she promised herself no more pining. 

As the day faded into late afternoon, and her classes came and went, Trixie mentally prepared herself for Chemistry class, not to mention the ever present chemistry that rested between them. The smell of Katya’s car, the leather seats and empty coffee cups, ran vivid through her memories; and she closed her eyes, lived in that imagining, before shaking its warm embrace and leaving that vision in the hallway behind her. She felt brave, sleepy, but renewed, until of course, she walked through the door.

There she was, hellbent and devilish, her hair tied up into a messy french twist. She was bent over the edge of the desk, brilliant eyes narrowed on a stack of papers at the far end, and as her body straightened upright, Trixie lost all sense of awareness. Hips and thighs, wrapped criminally in a tight pencil skirt, red glasses, red shoes,  _ red lips _ . Katya’s heels clicked across the tiled floor, and Trixie, blocking the doorway, could practically feel Katya walking all over her chest. Katya moved toward the coat rack, and pulled on her lab coat slowly, smoothing the fabric down around her waist. Those hands, those soft, fervent hands, trailed passed the back of her skirt, and followed the contours of her body down the length of the coat. And Katya paused for a moment, her eyes meeting Trixie’s, allowing a fiendish smile to befall her lips.

“You’re here early,” Katya offered, turning away from Trixie to fetch a few beakers from a nearby cabinet. She nibbled lightly at the eraser of a pencil while she worked, arranging and tidying, sifting through papers in search of a spark wheel.

“I- uh, I mean, yeah. Just a few minutes, I think.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re fifteen minutes early, Tracy.”

“I- yes, that would be correct.”

Trixie couldn’t help the sudden flood of embarrassment over the skin of her arms, as goosebumps rose on the surface, like tiny, silent prayers. She didn’t really know why she had gotten there so early, maybe she’d just been quietly hoping Katya would already be there. They stood in silence for a moment, and Katya peered up at Trixie from under her glasses.

“Well?” Katya questioned, her words hanging in the air, strong and biting, quite like her perfume.

Trixie might as well have been drooling.

“Is there something you need, Talullah?”

_ You. Bent over that desk. Now. _

“Need, I- um, yes! My purse, I thought you might have my purse today. I kind of need my debit card back, the whole ‘I forgot my wallet’ excuse hasn’t worked with Kim in like, a really long time…”

“SHIT. I am very sorry, my sincerest apologies. We’ll have to make quick detour today to my apartment,Talullah. I could give you ride home again today, yes? If… if that is okay with you?”

“Is there a reason you’re holding my personal effects hostage?”

“You mean other than steal your identity and drain bank accounts?”

“Could it be to... lure me into your apartment?” Trixie teased, nerves still latent in the fresh sweat on the back of her neck.

“No, never,” Katya looked over her shoulder suggestively, “that would be inappropriate.”

“Oh, and you driving me home everyday, isn’t?”

“Is it my fault your ass is drawn to Barb’s seat like magnet? The sexual tension between you two transcends my ability to intervene,Tracy. Plus, that would be catastrophic wrongdoing to the heavens, and I cannot have that cosmic blood on my hands!”

“And you say I’m the dork?” Trixie threw, playfully.

“Do you always follow questions with more questions?”

“Do I?”

 

\---

 

Trixie eyed Katya’s hand resting over the center console, and had to fight with every ounce of her being to avoid it’s imminent pull on her fingers. She could feel herself falling harder and harder into Katya’s temptation by the day, but it was more than just her body that had Trixie on edge. Her laugh, her scent, the silhouette of her face as it flickered into view in the light of the moving car. Katya, catching Trixie’s eyes on her, adjusted her glasses, sneaking a peak in her direction.

 

Her phone again,  _ 7 missed calls.  _ She turned it off.

 

“Wait a minute…” Trixie said, turning to look behind her as she slid off her cardigan and threw it in the back seat, “are you, are you getting on the bridge?”

“Yes… why?”

“You mean to tell me that you live across the bridge? You said my house was on your way?”

“Well, it is…”

“Katya, my house is twenty minutes in the other direction!”

“Oh, is it?” Katya’s cheeks lit up, as bright red as her lips, “I had not noticed…”

Trixie and Katya both fell into laughter, their shoulders bouncing up and down with the movement of the car. It was an old car, and quite weathered, but bounced sturdily over the potholes that Katya felt unnecessary to avoid. Trixie traced the ribboned edge of the leather trimmed seat with a shaky index finger, the tip of her nail falling into shallow cuts and cracks. Their laughter faded slowly into soft blushing, and Trixie again fought the urge to let her hand drift over to Katya’s.

Everything had happened so fast, so suddenly, quite like an illness, ravishing parts of her body she had forgotten existed. She couldn’t tell what the pull was, or where it had stemmed from, the feeling was near indescribable; but there was an aching need to be closer, to speak sweeter. Not only to touch, but to listen, to brave the inner workings of what blossomed between them.

Katya pulled her car off of the main highway with a sharp turn of the steering wheel, and slipped down a side street, which wound haphazardly around a large grouping of pine trees. The road crescendoed into a more residential setting, and while they were far apart, small houses began popping up in between the grassy clearings. They slowed a bit then, and Katya indicated a left turn toward a rocky driveway.

“Well, this is me!” Katya said, pulling in sharply.

“It’s beautiful…”

“Please say you’ll come in? Just a… few minutes? Maybe we could have that coffee you suggested other day?”

Trixie bit her lip, swallowing a lump in her throat. She felt suddenly nervous.

“I’d like that.”

Katya’s car puttered to a stop, resting before a big blue house covered in swathes of creeping ivy. Thin, spindly vines of dormant trumpet-creepers clung to the tall wooden fence, overgrown and dangling. And as they hopped out of the car and began down the graveled pathway, Trixie had to duck to escape them tangling in her hair. Katya stopped just before the door, and turned to face Trixie, pulling a few dried leaves from Trixie’s curls. And the two of them laughed as they pictured them like tiny stowaway passengers, just trying to hitch a ride.

It was a large house, but divided down the middle, allowing for two completely separate, but adjoined apartments. The back door opened into a living room, eclectic and lush, sprawling with potted plants and indoor ivy that swirled around the moulding and window fixtures. Many of the plants looked unkempt, untended, as they lay yellowed and dried. Stacks of paper and clutter lined the table tops, while empty test tubes and beakers were strewn about the apartment, reeking of chemicals, crusted over at the tops.

Katya scrambled to clear the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for Trixie, before dashing frantically around the room, picking up laundry and scattered papers from the floor. Sunlight streamed in through the curtains, their patterns bright and clashing. And nothing matched, nothing at all, not even the kitchen chairs; but everything fit. Some kind of balance settled in the room, some mismatched dissonance, steeped in harmony. And Trixie smiled at how intrinsically fitting it all was, how much of Katya shined in through those curtains; how she could hear Katya’s words spoken through the art on the walls.

Katya, looking proud, slammed Trixie’s purse down on the table and sat before her, her elbows resting on her knees with her chin propped up on her hands.

“See! I told you I would find it, there’s a method to this madness!”

Trixie reached for the purse and opened it.

“There was a twenty dollar bill in here…”

Katya looked startled, the blood draining from her face.

“I- I would never… I mean… I didn’t se-”

“Don’t sweat, I’m just fucking with you, this bitch is broke!”

“Well, if there is one thing I am always, it is sweaty,” Katya teased.

Trixie leaned across the table to peer into the bedroom that sat just passed the entryway of the kitchen. No sheets, no pillow cases, just a mattress on the floor, a tangled mess of blankets and laundry. She smiled to herself, her eyelids fluttering closed.

They sipped bitter black coffee, which Katya had poured directly from the pot into two tall beer steins, steam fogging the thick glass. Katya sprinkled heavy spoonfuls of cinnamon over the top of hers, and dropped in two buds of clove, watching as their tiny heads bobbed to the surface.

“Don’t you have any mugs?” Trixie asked.

“Are these not mugs?” Katya replied.

They went on that way for a while, tucked behind Katya’s tiny kitchen table, cup after cup of coffee so sour, Trixie had to choke most of it down; but she’d do anything if it meant she could spend another second in Katya’s thoughts. She’d drink it straight and scorching if it meant she could stay, staring at the bits of cinnamon that clung to Katya’s upper lip. She thought about sucking them off, how sharply they’d play across her tongue, how Katya’s lips would swell from the pressure.

A certain familiarity snuck in between them, heart and laughter weaving through their musings, like a soft braid of intimacy. And Trixie, as closed and guarded as they come, felt herself unraveling, saying things she never thought she’d say to another human, things even Kim didn’t know. Everything threaded out of her with such unexpected ease; and in that moment, alone but together in Katya’s tiny kitchen, the very essence of what they were had grown, strong and tall like the mammoth sunflowers of Trixie’s childhood.

And hours later, well into the night, they were still sitting, but had moved. Their backs were propped against the yellowed wallpaper, while their bottoms pressed into the cool wood of Katya’s kitchen floor. They nibbled on Ritz cracker sandwiches, sticky with strawberry preserves and peanut butter, and fallen crumbs speckled the dark blanket thrown over their legs; the blanket Katya had fetched after Trixie complained about leaving her cardigan in the car. Trixie shifted her weight, and the side of her thigh brushed against Katya’s, but instead of retreating, she left it there; like a despairing sign, scribbled in hope and fear that read,  _ I am here, I am with you, please don’t pull away.  _ And much to Trixie’s surprise, she didn’t.

Warmth radiated from the apex of Katya’s thigh, and as comfort seeped into the pores of her skin, Trixie relaxed against Katya’s frame, allowing her head to rest on Katya’s shoulder. And Katya didn’t resist, but instead, melted into her. An act that without arms, wrapped around Trixie, holding on tight. A measure that without speech, expressed the very meaning of human compassion, and put her weary mind at ease. The tall windows along the kitchen walls were frostbitten at the corners, and a small chill leaked in through the glass; but still, like Dorothy, fading into the field of poppies, they floated away together, lost in that delicious dream space. And sleep slowly took them. First Trixie, and then Katya, their gentle breathing almost inaudible over the whirr of the radiator.

Trixie awoke hours later to Katya’s face close to hers, her clammy hands cupped around Trixie’s cheeks, pulling her in. Katya’s eyes were hazy, softened by sleep, her warm smile breathtaking in the light. And for a moment, as the sun slowly rose through the blue of dawn, it seemed as though Katya might kiss her.

“We have to get you home, Tallulah, roommates must be worried about you.”

Trixie sighed, faltering under the absence of Katya’s touch as she removed her hands, and she tried opening her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr: DahliasForKatya !! Or just come say hello!! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie stood for a moment and let everything sink in, their eyes meeting.
> 
> Katya reached for Trixie’s left hand and brought it gingerly to her lips. She placed a soft kiss on Trixie’s knuckle, then let their hands drift together to the left side of her chest. And through the cotton of Katya’s blouse, Trixie could feel the quick drumming of her heart, could see in her eyes a great fear, but also a great acceptance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I've been going through a lot of pretty heavy real life stuff, and have just basically been overwhelmed, but I am so OVERJOYED to be writing again! And I thank you so much for your patience in waiting for this chapter! Here's hoping the final chapters follow in quick succession. Thank you so so so much for all of your kind words and messages, they keep me going!
> 
> ALSO I'M SO SORRY THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER IS JUST ANGST. You're welcome. :)
> 
> I would not have made it through this chapter, or life in general, without my lovely lesbians [DjoodiGarland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/djoodigarland) and [Matilda_Queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/matilda_queen). Thank you for always being there for me and loving me through this. And to [ Rosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificiallale), my beautiful, sweet love. Thank you for everything, I don't know where I'd be without you.

_“What kind of daughter are you?”_

There had been a lot of shouting those days, a lot of name calling, a myriad of misspoken insults that sank into her skin like injections of lost faith.

Trixie spent most of her time calling rental agencies, shaking her mother awake, getting turned down by realtor after realtor because she was, well, she was too young. And truly, how could she expect any respectable adult to take her seriously?

" _You have to be at least 18 to apply.”_

  _I’m not._

_"Is this a prank call? Where are your parents, kid?”_

_Hell, if I should know._

" _You have to file a credit report, first.”_

_What’s a credit report?_

" _Okay so, why can’t your mother come to the phone again?”_

_She’s ill._

" _We’ll get back to you.”_

_No, you won’t._

Homeless. Trixie kept thinking, _homeless_ . _If it continues on this way, the sheriff will come and evict us and we’ll be homeless._ Countless nights she’d lie awake, obsessively checking her emails, relentlessly disappointed, and she’d think _homeless._

She’d stopped going to school, stopped trying to wake her mother in time for the truancy officers, in time for CPS, and family services. And nobody looked at her the same, they always held the same disgustingly patronizing eyes. _Poor trixie, her mother doesn’t care, her mother can’t care, her mother had forgotten to care._

But still, they shrugged her case off. Afterall, there’d been no evidence of physical abuse. Trixie appeared well fed, well kempt. And this allowed for more time, for more phone calls and rejections. Allowed for more empty booze bottles and prescription refills, piling sinks full of dishes and dirty carpets.

And soon she found herself asking, _“What kind of a daughter am I?”_

\---

“I’m very sorry, we… I should not have done this. It was inappropriate of me.”

“Katya…”

Through the fog of lost sleep and Russian folk flowing tinny through the car speakers, Trixie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stealing glances from her seat on the passenger’s side. Katya’s eyes were narrowed and stolid as she drove, focused on the road, pale hair spilling out in heaps over her thin shoulders. And neither of them spoke, the ever-thickening gravity of the night before weighing on them like a fever dream. Trixie felt tender but weary, fearful. She wanted more, so much more than the situation could allow.

Somewhere, on some plane, Trixie knew that this was fleeting; that any feeling Katya might’ve held for her, couldn’t be sustainable. And she could feel the regret, hanging bitter in the air between them, that even though they hadn’t done anything measurable, it was the tenderness that stung the most. The cloying need for sweetness, need for more, contradicted by the wavering inability to act; but still, she yearned for Katya’s touch, for that laugh, and those wide, curious eyes.

The sun came into full view then, but the hour was still just as pale blue as the shine in Katya’s eyes. And as they pulled up to Trixie’s house, much to her surprise, Katya didn’t look over, but stayed steely, eyes cast over the dashboard. And Trixie sighed complacently, as the warmth had seeped out of Katya’s smile somewhere between Main street, and Beacon drive.

Trixie sat for a moment, quiet in her breathing, searching the side of Katya’s face, silently willing Katya to turn her head. Her sight followed the deep plunge of Katya’s cheekbones, down her neck, her freckled chest; and Trixie wanted nothing more than to reach out and let a hand fall to the back of Katya’s neck, but she resisted.

And just then, with a subtle haste, Katya sent her arm across the center console, over Trixie’s chest, and opened the passenger’s side door.

Confident there was nothing more to be said, she flipped a brief nod of thanks and turned in her seat to step down, but before she could, the light brush of Katya’s fingers found her cheek. And Trixie turned her head to meet Katya’s eyes, just as bright and heavenly as they were the night before, but riddled now with penitence. Trixie closed her eyes, leaning her cheek into Katya’s palm, a deep exhale leaving her like a calm under the waves. Softly, she opened her eyes, took in one last glance, and stepped out of the car, closing the door gently behind her.

Soon Trixie was watching Katya pull away, her car stalling at first, and then kicking up dust as it descended the graveled drive. A chill ran through her, smooth in the November air; and Trixie found herself, bleary eyed and sullen, missing the cardigan she’d forgotten in Katya’s back seat. All the while hopeful, incredibly hopeful, that its presence would carry Katya back to her.

With a forbearing sigh, Trixie carried herself up the porch steps and pushed through the front door. She entered, closed it quietly behind her, and tiptoed through the kitchen, kicking off her shoes by the basement door.

“Well, aren’t we getting in late…”

Trixie turned with a start, her heart skipping a beat. Kim was sat at the kitchen window seat, spooning heaps of sugar into a steaming mug of tea. And as the steam crept into the air, an image of last night’s coffee churned in the pit of Trixie’s stomach. Then she was desperate for it, remnants of that memory still latent on the burnt tip of her tongue.

“Or should I say,” Kim spoke again with a curt grin, “early? Given it’s 5am.”

“Okay, _mom._ I could ask you the same thing. What’re _you_ doing here so early?”

“Waiting for you.”

“What, why?” Trixie chuckled, scanning Kim’s face.

Trixie crossed the kitchen floor and headed for the coffee maker, her hip brushing Kim’s protruding knee as she passed by. Her head ached with exhaustion, and while she was thankful for the comforting gurgle of coffee brewing, she felt irritable, raw; unsure if the coffee would help or hurt. Trixie laid her upper body over the center counter top, her elbows resting on the surface; and she closed her eyes, self-soothing, rubbing slow circles into her temples.

“So, you did forget?”

“Forget wh-” Trixie stopped, slowed, “oh, shit. Kim, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot we had- I just got so caught up in... wait, so you sat here all night… waiting for me? Why didn’t you just call me?”

“Well, no dummy, I’m not a freak. I woke up a little while ago. And I did call you, last night. But your phone was off.”

Trixie patted around her pockets, and upon finding her phone, ran her fingertips over the surface; the tips of her nails catching in the cracks of last year’s shatter. And while she powered it on, a soft silence hung in the air between her and Kim.

 

_↳ Kim: hey, i just got in, pearl’s cooking again, im whispering tiny prayers for the safety of your kitchen. you leave school yet?_

_↳ 1 Missed Call: Kim_

_↳ Kim: Violet said she hasn’t seen you all afternoon, are you okay?_

_↳ Kim: say yes to the dress is starting in like 5 mins, do you want me to wait… or???? should I just assume I get to indulge in ALL of these facemasks by myself??_

_↳ Kim: yoooooo my skin abouta be TIGHT_

_↳ 6 Missed Calls: Caller ID Restricted_

_↳ Kim: ok it’s literally 1am, where tf are you????? im getting kind of worried here. ive had to stop violet from calling the police like 6 times_

_↳ 2 Missed Calls: Kim_

_↳ 11 Missed Calls: Caller ID Restricted_

 

She shook a wave of anxiety and returned her gaze to Kim.

“I… I’m so sorry, I just, my-”

“You were with _her_ again, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“Listen, I’m worried about you, Trix,” her tone softened, and Trixie met her gaze through clouds of coffee steam, “you-”

“Listen Kim, I’ve had kind of a shitty morning and it’s like dick o’clock and I really don’t have th-”

“You’ve just, you've been spending a lot of time with her, Trixie.”

“Excuse me? Are you policing who I spend my time with now?” Trixie said, still joking, but a little sharper than she’d intended.

Speech suspended for a moment as Kim drew in a long breath, and exhaled on a quiet sigh.

“Okay. First of all, chill. I just mean that… Listen, Trix, she seems sweet, she really does, but there’s some nasty stuff going around about her and I just don’t want to see you mixed up in that.”

Trixie could feel a bubbling heat rising in her chest, up her neck, spreading into a rouge across her cheeks. She poured the coffee into a mug, some splashing onto the countertop, and found herself rifling through the spice rack for cinnamon; she needed something to shake Katya’s impassivity, to bring her back to last night’s loveliness; but the scent alone burned Katya’s image in the back of her mind, a picture so clear of her face, so cold and distant.

She sipped slowly, cinnamon catching at the back of her throat, and somewhere in all of the coughing, Kim’s patronization had crept beneath her skin and set the surface ablaze.

“Honestly Kim, I love you, but it’s too early for this shit. And thinking about it now, literally none of this is even remotely your business. You don’t know anything about her,” Trixie said, biting. Her headache raged on, a sour pang radiating from the back of her neck. And she could tell she was overreacting, creating something out of nothing; but she couldn’t help but fall farther into it.

“Trixie, I’m your friend. I’m just saying, you always do thi-”

“Well, don’t _just say_. I’m stressed enough about this as it is, and I don’t need you, of all people, making this harder on me! You’re always on me about this kind of shit, and I don’t need it right now!”

“ _Wow, okay._ _You_ make plans with _me_. Break them. Fuck your teacher. And somehow, _I’m_ in the wrong? Since when is carin-”

“I did not fuc- did you ever stop and think, for maybe even a millisecond, that the reason I’m spending all of this time with her is because you keep ditching me?”

“Trixie, do not put this on me. You always do this.”

“Do what?” Trixie snapped.

“You always turn things around on me! I’ve literally done nothing wrong here!” Kim stood then from the window seat.

“Oh, so it’s perfectly okay for you to promise me a ride, and then leave me stranded like three times a week, but the one time I make a human mist- “

“I’ve done so much for you, Trixie! This is not one _human mistake_. I knew you’d find some way to fuck this up. You know, I bust my ass day and night, and everyone fucking wants something from me. I give, and I give, and all you do is take,” Kim interrupted, throwing her hands into the air, and letting them fall hard to her sides.

Trixie watched the argument unravel from a space outside of her own body. She could see the anger leaving Kim in harsh waves; and though the salt water stung, stirred bitter words in her own mouth that threatened escape, she was able to rationalize, self sooth. She couldn't fully give herself to the argument, knowing that this was long awaited for Kim, that maybe all the stress and chaos had finally gotten to her.

A person could only bend so far before it broke them, could only expend so much before they were due. And Kim, generous and giving as they come, had spent countless hours of her life twisting and contorting her time to fit the moulds of other people; but the words still hurt, still rang of distant memories of her mother’s disappointment, of rage and of acid.

“Fuck what up?” Trixie took a step back, her mind racing.

“Nothing, just forget it.”

“No, you have something to say, say it. You’re not my _mother_ Kim, I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Oh, that’s rich! You know, I might as well be your mother. Who the fuck do you think found you this place when your _actual mother_ threw you out? Who got you the job you quit because it was,” Kim pulled her fingers into air quotations, “too much? Paid your rent when you couldn’t. Who busted her ass getting you into this school? You can’t commit to anything Trixie, and now, NOW, you’ve gone and figured out the ONE way you can fuck up school, too! I hope Katya’s worth it I really do. Because when administration finds out, you’re both _fucked_.”

A knot twisted tightly in Trixie’s stomach.

“Stop bringing her into this! You don’t know anything about her! Or me for that matter, clearly. But _obviously_ , you have a lot to say,” Trixie said, almost shouting.

“You think she cares about you? You’re wrong, Trix. You need to grow up, really. She’s using you, just like she did Phi Phi. And when this all blows up in your face, like everything always does, you’re gonna come crying to me. And you know what? I won’t be here.”

Just then, a small noise from the staircase caught their attention. They turned their heads to find two thin figures perched at the top, eyes wide and watching. And Pearl opened her mouth to speak, but Trixie was out the door, leaving her coffee steaming on the counter.

\---

Kim’s words, heated and stinging, followed her like a phantom down the halls of her university. And while it hurt, ached a sore plight down the center of her chest, she knew that everything Kim said had been right. She’d been a bad friend, taken too much and given too little. And she could hear her mother’s words too, fresh as the day they were spoken, like silent criminals come to steal her composure.

Autopilot carried her to Katya’s class, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, in the same cracked makeup down her cheeks. Their eyes met and unmet constantly, knowing, each glance holding space a little longer than it should’ve. And Trixie felt as though she could cry at any moment, as the dull ache in her head echoed through the back of her skull, and the need for escape ravaged all the spaces in between. She felt trapped, unable to escape Katya’s eyes; though she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to. She wanted someone to see her, that she was sure of. Someone to see passed the façade and tell her that it was all going to be okay, and she wanted that someone to be Katya; but some things just couldn’t be, and she was learning then, slowly but surely, that she had to make peace with that. Maybe they could come out of this on top, settle for glances and smiles, chats after class, and maybe, just maybe, Trixie could forget the rush. And if not forget, then settle for a dull ache of what could've been.

 _5 Missed Calls_.

Class flew by in a rush of anxiety, Trixie auto piloting her way through the motions, all the while hoping she could slip out near the end unnoticed; but much to her dismay, as Trixie had anticipated, the end of class found Katya beelining for Trixie’s desk, and any interaction between them became suddenly unavoidable.

“Listen, Tracy, I’m… I’m very sorry about last night, about this morning, I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Katya started.

“Katya don’t, really. It’s fine, you haven’t don-”

“I think it would be… in better interest, if I didn’t drive you home anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” Trixie said, picking absently at the corner of her thumb nail.

“We can’t do thi-”

“We haven’t _done_ anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

Trixie stood for a moment and let everything sink in, their eyes meeting.

Katya reached for Trixie’s left hand and brought it gingerly to her lips. So tender, so domestic. She placed a soft kiss on Trixie’s knuckle, then let their hands drift together to the left side of her chest. And through the cotton of Katya’s blouse, Trixie could feel the quick drumming of her heart, could see in her eyes a great fear, but also a great acceptance.

“I know,” Trixie said quietly, pulling her hand back.

She turned on a slow heal and started for the door; leaving Katya, small and teary eyed, stark in the middle of the room. And as Trixie stole a final glance, the light of the projector cast her silhouette like a specter across the back wall, that sunk into the floor while the door swung shut behind her.

She’d only gotten a few steps down the hall before tears began spilling down her cheeks, probably carrying mascara with them. And Trixie blotted the space beneath her eyes, covertly avoiding eye contact with Jinkx as she passed her down the main hall just before the stairs.

_7 Missed Calls._

 ---

 She found herself outside then, heading toward the employee parking lot, under a usual tuck of trees that arched then against the rain, almost protectively overhead. Though many of the leaves had fallen and sunken into the grounds, there had been just enough to provide her shelter, and she stood for a few beats before realizing Katya wasn’t going to come. Trixie shivered as the cold hit her, her breath evident in the brisk, and she coiled into herself, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her hips.

She patted around her pockets and produced a crumpled twenty dollar bill, that she smoothed against her books and tucked into the side of her bra, the very last of that week’s allowance. While she scrolled through her phone in search of a taxi company, though they were sparse in these parts, she watched as cars puttered by her, subtly hoping to see Katya’s round the drive.

Before she could hit call, her phone lit up again, buzzing in her palm; a contact photo, her at a young age, eyes bright and glittering, a cheesy smile. And her mother, younger, less weathered, hair still long and curly, thin fingers pinching Trixie’s cheeks.

Until then, the calls seemed more like a minor nuisance, just a permanent fixture on the dashboard of her notifications, but now it cut deep; reminded her of all that she’d lost, all that she’d never regain. And she did something she hadn’t done in months, hadn’t done since Kim had found her and brought her here, _she answered_. And it went just as swimmingly as she might’ve guessed.

“I’ve been calling you for weeks,” a gravely voice slurred through the phone line.

“Are you, are you drunk?”

“What kind of daughter would ask that?”

Soon there was shouting. And Trixie lost all awareness of her environment, her surrounding; but she knew people were watching, she just simply forgot to care. And tears were spilling out of her, falling onto her shirt, tangling with the rain water washing down her skin.

The air was cold, her fingers red and pruning, phone pressed firmly into her cheek. Everything was spinning and far from sound, and as her mother continued her lamentation, Trixie grew more tense, more unabsolved. She felt trapped suddenly, by all of the forces outside of her own body, controlling her, prodding and pulling like the strings of a marionette. And she came to a startling realization; her life, wasn’t hers. This wasn’t what she wanted, this wasn’t who she wanted to be.

Before she could even hang up the phone, someone was tugging at her arm, pulling her gently from the rain, and from the watching eyes. Guiding her down into a car, her boots finding the comforting crush of empty coffee cups and to-go wrappers. And her phone found its way back into her pocket, as did her fingers, numb from the cold that she pressed into her thighs.

They drove in silence, down familiar roads that were slick then with sleet. And the squeaking of the windshield wipers held an almost deafening stance against the quiet.

“Tracy… Ar-”

“Please, Katya. _Please_ , don’t.” Trixie said, drying her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I just… You can still talk to me, you know.”

“No, I can’t. I really can’t.”

Just then, Katya pulled her car swiftly off of the road, hitting the curb and throwing the gears into park. She took off her seatbelt so she could turn to meet Trixie’s gaze.

“What are we doing here?”

“I want to talk to you. I want you to talk to me, there’s n-”

“You know what,” Trixie said, unfastening her seatbelt, “I really can’t. And you know damn well why I can’t.”

“I am not understanding this.”

“Because, Katya! I fucking want you, I want us, I want…” Trixie threw her hands into the air in exasperation, “this! And I’m so sick of everyone in my life telling me what to do, and who to be. Even you! Everyone is always… god, I don’t know! I’m so fucking overwhelmed all of the time by this expectation of who I’m supposed to be, how I’m supposed to act. I have never, ever, not once in my life, not had to fight for every single thing that I have and I’m sick of it. I’m my own person, we are both fucking adults and we can make our own decisi-”

Before she could finish, Katya’s hands were over the center console, pulling her face close, their lips finally meeting.

\---

And suddenly her fingers are on me, in my hair, running down my neck. Our mouths meeting like it’s the first time, gliding swiftly over one another, melding us as one exchange of impassioned energy. And her breath is warm, and sweet, _intoxicating_. Everything I need. Devastatingly, so. From the light of the cars in passing, flickering across her skin, I can see every unspoken word, escaping into the expanse. She wants me, and I want her, and this may be fleeting but I’ve forgotten to care as her hands stroke passed my hair and down my back, sliding with a quick and heavy rhythm like she’s striking a match. Every ounce of angst in me cries out for her, yearns to be closer, to be deeper, to love long and speak sweeter. And I’m falling into her hard, like I’ve never fallen before-

 ---

Their lips parted as Katya pulled away, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Trixie, Trixie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have, we can’t do this!” Katya tensed, her accent thicker than ever.

And all of the spinning inside of Trixie stopped, her expression blank, eyes blinking quick and without rhythm. Her skin flushed, hot embers fading into gray coals.

“ _Trixie_?” She said in a hushed exasperation, realizing that it was the first time she’d ever heard the name leave Katya’s lips.

“We can’t, I’m so sorry. I just, I care about you so much but we… we can’t Trix-”

“Why not? _WHY NOT?_ You just said it, you care about me! Katya, please, not you too, you can’t do this to me, too. I can’t handle someone else telling me what I ca-”

“Trixie, please try and understand… I’m so so-”

“You know what. _Save it._ ”

And with that, Trixie was climbing out of the car, the garbage underfoot kicking out onto the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come say hi!!!](http://dahliasforkatya.tumblr.com/ask) :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That morning, though the edges fuzzy and dismal in the wake the last week’s storm, held a certain chaos that swelled deep within her. And as she descended the porch steps, as she did most every morning, the realization that her life had become accustomed to this kind of catastrophe was only vaguely comforting. She was used to watching her life collapse in on itself, used to scrambling around, trying her best to pick up the pieces. And all of those missing pieces, those that would slip through the cracks despite her best efforts, would continue to haunt her. Like sweeping up the remnants of a mug you’d dropped, careful to capture each piece, only to find a straggler lodged in your heel while walking barefoot across the floor, weeks later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long time in the making, and I just wanted to thank you all for your stunning kindness and patience, you've all been so wonderful to me and have kept me going, and I'm so grateful for that. Here's hoping the next chapters follow in quick succession! 
> 
> A huge, gigantic, loving, warm thank you to my bbies, all of those beautiful souls that continue to carry me through life, you know who you are.

Nobody ever tells you that once you leave your childhood home, nothing feels like coming home anymore. Given you have a house to come home to, it may feel like yours, perhaps because your things are there and they feel familiar, but it almost always feels off-kilter. It’s quite dreamlike, everything after home just feels like glass and wood, like mouldings, and kitchen cabinets, and paint. 

Nobody ever tells you that once you leave your childhood home, possessions start to lose their meaning too; sentimentality be damned. You will spend most of your adult life searching for that feeling, that attachment to objects and to memory; bathing yourself in less than bountiful bouts of nostalgia. But you, like most people, like Trixie, may never find it. And you will spend most of your adult life slowly coming to terms with that. For some it might’ve been a porch swing, grandma’s printed apron, the magnets on the fridge; but for Trixie it was the carpet in the living room, deep pink and shag, laying on her back and curling her fingers into the fiber; or the feeling of pressing her palms into the glass of the aquarium and watching the overgrown fish bubble by.  Home felt like her mother’s coveted china cabinet of black enamel, shiny mirrors, and crystal, sat in the dining room so long it began sinking into the linoleum floor. For Trixie, home was the bottom drawer in the bathroom that always smelled of nail polish, and the laundry chute hidden away in the closet, its devised potential as a means of escape, you know, god forbid there be a burglar and Trixie needed an exit strategy.

Nobody ever tells you that burglars aren’t just grizzly men in striped shirts and ski masks, that burglars come in many forms, both human and not. That a burglary can happen to most anyone, of anything, at any time; that you can lose things slowly, or all at once. And they lost things slowly, but Trixie couldn’t tell if that was better or worse. First to go was the fence in the backyard, challenged by the falling of their family apple tree, and with no “man” around to fix it, it lie recumbent, pressed into the wilting grass. And then one by one, the burners on the kitchen stove burned out, until only one remained.

Of course by then, the screen door had twisted away from its hinges, the trampoline and swimming pool decayed, the washing machine shorted, and the shag carpet felt almost untouchable, untouched by a vacuum for months. But nearly biggest of all, her mother’s car, and its obligatory financial burden, a cost too difficult to manage. All of those things lost slowly, almost like losing baby teeth; until the eviction notice.

The county sheriff came, big and towering in his black leather boots, and pulled the rug out from under them in one fell swoop. And Trixie awoke that day to the sight of tears down her mother’s cheeks, to a glowering defeat in her eyes, both slowly, and all at once.

Nobody ever tells you that you can be robbed of more than just objects, of big ticket items and shiny trinkets. But of your comfort, your sanity, and your  _ childhood. _

Trixie’s mother used to make blueberry pancakes every Sunday morning, but always mixed way too many blueberries into the batter. She didn’t anymore, and hadn’t for a while, but she might’ve, had she the  _ will _ , or a stove to cook them on.

 

\---

 

Trixie was beginning to find that the thing about stray bits of cinnamon and clove floating around in her coffee, is that they had a tendency to pool at the bottom of the cup; creating for a gritty and unpleasant last sip. And although they swirled uncomfortably around her tongue, caught at the the back of her throat when she wasn’t expecting, somehow, she couldn’t escape her yearning for the taste. And every morning found her beside Pearl in the kitchen, choking down black coffee, picking bits of cinnamon out of her teeth on her way out the door. 

That morning, though the edges fuzzy and dismal in the wake the last week’s storm, held a certain chaos that swelled deep within her. And as she descended the porch steps, as she did most every morning, the realization that her life had become accustomed to this kind of catastrophe was only vaguely comforting. She was used to watching her life collapse in on itself, used to scrambling around, trying her best to pick up the pieces. And all of those missing pieces, those that would slip through the cracks despite her best efforts, would continue to haunt her. Like sweeping up the remnants of a mug you’d dropped, careful to capture each piece, only to find a straggler lodged in your heel while walking barefoot across the floor, weeks later.

Her stomach gurgled, acid reflux building and breaking, all black coffee and empty otherwise; although, not because she’d been too sad or nervous to eat, but more than likely because Pearl had burnt six fried eggs in a row before Trixie had realized her ride waiting out front. Softly, she let a comforting hand fall just beneath her belly button and continued down the drive, bracing the cold as she shifted her bag from one shoulder, to the other. And as she sent her arm downward toward the car door, the soft, pink wool of her peplum coat allowed the armband of her bag to slide down the length of her arm, catching painfully at the inside of her elbow. She made a disgruntled noise, sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, and swung the bag into the back as she pulled the door shut behind her. With an exasperated breath she slid into the passenger’s seat, turned to face Jinkx, and let a weary smile inch across her lips.

“Thank you again, I really appreciate it,” Trixie said, collecting her bearings as Jinkx put the car into gear, “I’m sorry to call you so last minute, like I said, that cab cancelled and Pearl’s car is in the shop, and I was really starting to panic... I don’t like not having a plan, and I’m so sorry if this is an imposition, it r-”

“Oh pish posh, don’t worry about it dear, it’s no trouble at all! It’s on the way! And even if it wasn’t, it’s always a pleasure seeing your pretty face, darling.”

_ It’s on the way.  _ She’d heard that before, and wondered if this time it were true.

“Here! Hold on a sec!” Trixie twisted her upper body to reach for her bag in the back seat, “let me give you gas money!”

Jinkx quickly threw her hand over Trixie’s, and shook her head with reassurance.

“Not necessary dear, don’t you dare!”

After a bit of back and forth, Trixie insisted despite her protesting, and slipped a ten dollar bill into the cup holder when Jinkx wasn’t looking; a ten dollar bill that upon its discovery, would inevitably find its way back into Trixie’s bag without her knowledge, sometime between classes one and two.

“So,” Jinkx smirked, eyeing the cupholder in her periphery, “how’re you feeling, doll face? Since Thursday, I mean...”

Jinkx sent Trixie a gentle glance as the car came to rest at a stoplight.

“I mean, it’s just... I’m n-”

“People have been making some pretty extravagant claims, whispers of what happened… ”

“I’m sorry,” Trixie paused, her heart sank, “what  _ happened _ ?”

“With you, outside the quad… I just mean, this is a small school, my darling, and people talk, oh how they love to talk. They love tall tales and lavishly furnishing details, yada yada! And I just, I don’t want you to panic but I wanted you to be aware. I just want you to know what you’re walking into.”

“Oh gosh, I hadn’t um,” Trixie laughed nervously, “is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Trixie hadn’t thought much of the social repercussions of last Thursday, she’d been so focused on everything else, with still no word from Kim, and her mother on her mind. It had almost been a week, six days to be exact, and the fact that people were still talking about it made Trixie dizzy. The thought had truly never even occurred to her.

“Not all bad things necessarily!”

“Ugh,” Trixie groaned, her head in her hands, “how could this be anything  _ but _ bad?”

“Well, for one thing, they’ve been really gracious about Katya-”

“Wait,  _ Katya? _ ”

Images of Katya rushed her; parted lips, the blurred edges of her lipstick, messy wisps of hair framing her face, free and frenzied from their confines. Overwrought eyes, a startling blue beneath her lashes, worried and frantic,  _ tragically beautiful. _

A sickness bloomed in Trixie like the slow and steady opening of a young flower, she thought about the damage she could’ve done to Katya’s reputation; although she was almost certain no one had seen them kissing, as they must’ve already been miles away when it happened. She wondered if they knew, the people talking, whispering about her, she wondered if they’d figured it out.

“They’re saying she helped you, that she was brave for helping you. You know? For talking you down and e-”

“What do you mean _ brave _ ?” Trixie interrupted.

“Well, after everything that happened with Phi Phi, it would be rather scandalous for administration to catch wind of her having any kind of personal interactions with a student.”

 

\---

 

She watched her reflection pass in the mirrored windows of the classrooms, and in their images, she could see the waistband of her skirt creeping up passed her belly button. She huffed, pressed it back down in annoyance, as she’d been playing all day at keeping it below her middle. The entire day felt as though she was just biding her time until chemistry class, navigating her headspace, wearing blinders; she could only see straight ahead, all of her thoughts anticipating one moment. 

And Jinkx trailed behind her like a little duckling, walking and talking in the background, exaggerated hand gestures flying into the air around her. She might’ve have had an easier time focusing on the conversation if it weren’t for the edge of Jinkx’s heel scraping the tile as they walked; the sound was too much like Katya, too close in rhythm.

They rounded a large wooden staircase, one that wound in a relaxed spiral all the way to the top floor, with flattened exits that spilled out onto every level. Trixie took in the greens and browns of the brick walls that scaled the inner heart of the staircase, her own heart racking against her chest as they hit the second floor and headed outward toward the science hall.

Trixie had become so used to Jinkx walking her to chemistry, that it came as a surprise when she began veering off in another direction, pulling Trixie off to the side and taking both of her hands in her own.

“Trixie, darling,” Jinkx began, a shine playing off of the chunky blue necklace draped over her chest, “I’ve got a few things to take care of before class, so this is where I must leave you.”

Jinkx smiled and gave Trixie’s hands a squeeze before letting them fall to her sides.

“Let me know if you need a ride later okay?”

“Will do, thank you again…”

“Don’t mention it, and hey,” Jinkx added sincerely, “I don’t know what’s going on with you... and Katya, if anything at all, but you’re shaking like a leaf, dear. Are you alright?”

“I’m totally fine, super fine,” she lied, biting her lip, “just missed breakfast, Pearl can’t cook for shit.”

Trixie took in a breath, steadied herself, balancing on the heels of her white cowboy boots and then teetering the weight back down to her toes.

“I feel a little sick, not gonna lie.” That much was true.

“You're going to be alright, I promise. Call me if you need anything, mama. You’re strong and beautiful and brave and I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Jinkx was off after that, her red hair bouncing down her back in time with her spritely steps. And though Jinkx’s words were comforting and made her feel less alone, she couldn’t help but miss Kim. Trixie tried hard but failed to shake the pain from her browline, as words started swimming around her thoughts like schools of fish. She wanted to make herself softer, gentler, floaty, but somehow Phi Phi always brought her back to solid ground.

She’d only heard bits and pieces, from Jinkx, from Kim, from girls whispering outside her chemistry class. Anytime she’d ever seen Phi phi, Trixie could tell people were talking about her, staring. And just for a moment, her heart went out, she wondered what it must be like to be red hot center of talk around campus, to have people watching your every move, gawking. Then again, maybe she already knew.

Honestly, she didn’t know how much truth there was to the rumors, nobody did, really. And she had always been too afraid to ask, didn’t want to know the details. But that didn’t stop her mind from wandering; and until then, they’d always seemed so far away, the rumors just out of her reach. Now they were searing as she made her way toward the classroom, toward a set of eyes so lovely and pale, once so warm and knowing. But she was sure all of that warmth had been lost, found other eyes to settle into. Could Katya have been scheming the whole time? Did she have feelings for Trixie, or was she just another notch in Katya’s belt loop? Thinking so poorly of Katya sent harsh waves of guilt down her extremities, made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Her thoughts hitched a change of pace. Of course Katya cared for her, she must have; otherwise, why would she have been so protective of Trixie; so worrisome of what a relationship between them might mean? The way she held Trixie’s hand on her kitchen floor, drifted off into a blissful sleep beside her, pulled her from the rain and from the eyes and kissed her through the tears. Trixie couldn’t just have imagined the feelings, they were there, she was sure of it. Color returned to her sight again, and the sweat on her palms cooled, questions still burned in the back of her mind, but her breaths were beginning to register more even keel.

That is, until she reached the classroom, and the flames found her skin again. There was Phi Phi, thin and fit and pretty, a near match in size to Katya, pushing her way passed Trixie, a tear rolling down her cheek as she left Katya’s class. Trixie had never seen Katya and Phi Phi together before, was never so easily able to picture what they might’ve looked like together. But then she could, clear as day. And any doubt Trixie might’ve had about the veracity of the rumors suddenly felt uncertain. What if the rumors  _ were _ true? What else would Phi Phi have been doing with Katya, and why was she crying?

She had to see for herself, see Katya’s face.

She peered in the class, just out of Katya’s sight, and watched for a moment. Katya sped around her desk, hair pulled sloppily into an unkempt knot at the top of her head. She looked messy, like something had spooked her; and that’s when Trixie’s nausea set in, bravery be damned. She found herself fleeing again, cursing her aversion to confrontation. She knew she was being juvenile, but fear pushed her out of the campus doors and into a taxi faster than she could even think. Pretty soon she was tipping the cab driver and and turning a key in her own front door.

Trixie was no stranger to cutting class, she’d done it so many times as a teenager, escaping the pressure of her home and studies, that it was like second nature. Still, that same old uneasiness crept up on her, that familiar, misplaced guilt gathered its reckoning.

She headed up the stairs just off of the main entrance and made a direct beeline for her bedroom at the end of the hall. Something about the promise of an empty house, knowing Violet and Pearl would be out for hours, was immensely comforting. Once safely inside her bedroom, she let her coat slink off of her body and onto the wood floor, slipped out of her cardigan, boots, and pinafore, and pulled a baggy sweater dress on over her head. She traded her opaque tights for leggings and thick wool socks, pink to match her dress. She made a habit of self care when she was stressed; things like putting on her favorite comfy clothes, dabbing a little lavender oil on her wrists and behind her ears, or even sliding a little chapstick over her lips made a world of difference.

She was about to head downstairs for coffee when she noticed the studio light on a couple of doors down, and heard the faint beat of music emanating from a crack in the door. It took a moment for her to register the sound, but once she recognized it, she knew immediately that it was Kim. Kim often traded studio time on campus, for studio time off, slipping in through the back door and making use of Pearl’s space for some much needed peace and quiet. And while every ounce of Trixie begged her to turn around, close her bedroom door and hide herself away, she mustered what courage she could and strode into the studio. She had to reconcile, she couldn’t stand another second of reservation.

Kim turned with a start at the sight of Trixie and immediately turned her music down. She quickly wiped white smears of paint off of her hands, and onto her smock; but an unmistakable, unavoidable smear lay right across her forehead, typical as she was always fighting her bangs away from her face. She offered a smile of meager proportions, and staggered backward a bit.

“What are you doing here?”

“You mean,” Trixie tensed, “what am I doing here? In my home?”

“You have class today. You know what I mean, dummy.”

Trixie could sense an uneasy tension between them; they hadn’t spoken since their fight almost a week ago. Which was odd for them, seeing as Trixie and Kim rarely ever fought at all. They’d gotten into a poor habit lately of bottling things up, and preserving each other’s feelings to the absolute ends of their sanity. Not because they lacked the proper communicative skills to do so, but rather because they were both going through a lot, were both stressed and stretched thin, and the least amount of stress they could place on each other, the better. But they both had a tipping point, and that tipping point came with vigor.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Trixie said, regretfully harsher than she’d intended.

“I don’t want to do this with you again.”

“Me either. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

This was all very foreign to Trixie, feeling such hurt and anger toward Kim. Kim had always been her rock, her safe haven, not the other way around. They had an innate fondness between them, a comprehensive knowing and compassion; and growing up the way Trixie had, sometimes it felt as though Kim was her only family, the only piece of home she’d carried with her to New York. She was still reasonably hurt, found it hard to shake some of the things Kim had said, but then again, she’d said some pretty nasty things too. Despite the guilt, she wanted nothing more than to put everything behind them.

“You were right,” Trixie offered.

“About what?”

Kim took a few steps toward Trixie, but she was still a reasonable distance away, twisting a paint brush between her thumb and pointer finger.

“About everything.”

“Well, duh. I always am,” Kim said with a deadpan expression, and Trixie chuckled after her, knew she was only half joking.

“Shut up!” Trixie chortled.

They both took a moment to breathe and collect themselves, and by then Kim had set her things down and gestured them over to the small purple sofa in the corner of the room. They sat with their legs crossed, facing each other; like they used to do by the glow of a flashlight, in blanket forts when they were kids.

“I ask too much of you, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, you were just trying to take care of me and I overreacted,” Trixie said.

“You don’t ask too much of me. You absolutely don’t. We’re family, we take care of each other. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you’re a burden or something...”

“You didn’t. Well, I mean, maybe for a minute,” she said with an impish grin, “Kim, you were kind of a cunt…”

“Me, a  _ cunt _ ? You were a cunt!”

“No,” Trixie mused, “but I  _ like _ cunt.”

Kim waited a beat before speaking, closed her eyes and brought a hand up to her forehead.

“That joke wasn’t even funny, _why are you_ _like this_?”

“My dad left and my mother went insane.”

“ _ TRIXIE _ .”

They fell into laughter, and Kim shoved one of the embroidered throw pillows into Trixie’s face, letting it fall to the floor as she closed her eyes and leaned back on the couch, giggles bouncing in her shoulders.

“Trixie, I’m saying this because I love you,” Kim said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes, “ _ I literally fucking hate you _ .”

“Yeah, so do my parents.”

“ _ I’m gonna fucking kill you, I swear _ ,” Kim shouted over her.

“ _ Please do, put me out of my lesbian suffering! _ ”

They play wrestled, Kim smearing fresh paint across Trixie’s cheek as Trixie jabbed a sharp pointer finger into Kim’s side. They laughed until their stomachs ached, their cheeks a jovial shade of red; and they faded from laughter into swift breathing, a kind that was short and deep in their bellies, aching in the best way possible. Trixie’s chest felt lighter, clean and exhumed; she let her upper body slide down the back of the sofa with a comfortable huff, coming to rest her head in Kim’s lap.

Kim brought her fingers to Trixie’s hair, moving them softly through Trixie’s curls. And they both let their eyes close, cheeks soften.

“Are you okay? Have you been okay?” Kim asked after a much needed moment of quiet.

“Everyone keeps asking me that.”

“I’ve just… been worried about you.”

“Define... okay…”

She pulled her fingers into air quotations on the last word.

“Trixie…”

“I’m scared,” Trixie said, probably for the first time out loud since all of this began.

“Of what, babe?”

“Her, I just… Katya. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Kim said nothing, just stroked Trixie’s hair and let her go on.

“People keep warning me about her, telling me to be careful and it’s like… how could someone so beautiful, so genuine, be bad for me? She just gets me, you know? She’s funny, and she’s sweet, and she listens… She’s smart too, so fucking smart! And boy, does she know it.”

“Mhm…”

“She’s so easy to talk to, it’s like we’re on the same level, somehow. I went to her house last week, kind of accidentally, and we talked literally all night.  _ All night _ , Kim. And I told her like… almost everything. And it felt so good to just,  _ breathe,  _ you know? There was no pressure, we were just… together! Just sitting there,  _ talking.  _ She’s so beautiful Kim, and I don’t just mean her looks, I mean everything about her is just beautiful… and that accent, _ god _ .”

“I didn’t know you felt this strongly about her,” Kim said, twirling a finger in and out of a curl.

“Jeez, neither did I…”

There was a beat of rest.

“What are you going to do? Do you know if she feels the same way about you?,” Kim asked.

“That’s the thing,” Trixie sat up then, turned to face Kim, “she keeps sending me these mixed signals! She’s kissing me one minute, and then shutting me out completely the next! I feel so dumb like… I don’t know what she wants. I don’t know what she wants me to do! She keeps telling me we can’t be together, and then the next thing I know, we’re falling asleep on her kitchen floor!”

“Have you two like… actually  _ slept _ together, you know, since-”

“No! And the weird part is, I don’t even care,” Trixie said, firmly, “I’m fully not even thinking about it when I’m near her, I just want to  _ be _ near her. Gay shit! It’s gay shit! I just want to hear about her day like a big, dumb, lesbian loser!”

“Trixie…”

“I  _ know _ , trust me Kim,  _ I know.  _ It’s bad. It’s really fucking bad. And then, to top it all off, there’s this whole Phi Phi thing! Anytime I ever mention Katya to anyone, ever, it’s Phi Phi this, and Phi Phi that!”

Kim took in a breath.

“Have you asked her Trix, about Phi Phi? Do you know what  _ actually _ happened?”

“No! I haven’t had the chance. And every time I think I’m going to, something stops me. Everyone looks at her like she’s some kind of monster, they’re all talking about her, gossiping like animals. I’m sure the last thing she needs is someone like me opening a can of worms like that. But truthfully, I haven’t even heard the whole story, like what supposedly happened! Everyone seems to know but me.”

“Look, Trix, I hate to say it, but I feel like the only way to settle this is to just talk to her. There’s no more credible source than the original.”

“I know… I know… but, do you know what happened? Like, can you tell me what you’ve heard, at least?”

Both of them jumped then, startled by the shrill chime of Violet’s cuckoo clock, sounding directly above them.

“SHIT, shit,  _ shit _ !” Kim gasped, shot up from the sofa.

“What?”

“ _ Is that the correct time? _ ”

Kim pointed to the clock.

“Yeah,  _ why _ ?”

Trixie watched as Kim darted around the room, collecting art supplies and throwing them into a worn canvas bag.

“I’m gonna be late, I’ve got that fashion show proposal bullshit in like ten minutes!”

Trixie followed kim down the stairs and into the kitchen; Kim rested her bag and a bundle of papers on the center counter while she hastily pulled on her shoes.

“I’m so sorry to cut this short Trix,” Kim said, throwing her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door, “we’ll talk about this more later, I  _ promise _ !”

Trixie tailed her to the door, and pulled her into a brisk hug. She felt lighter already.

“Have fun,” Trixie called after her, watching her jog down the porch steps, “good luck on your fashion show proposal bullshit!”

Trixie slowly ambled inside, closed the door behind her, and pressed her back against the door, melting into the wooden panels. She closed her eyes and drew in a breath, her chest calm, easy. Upon opening her eyes, she let her lips curl into a thin smile; from her place against the door, she had a perfect view of the kitchen counter, and from what she could tell, Kim’s proposal resting on its surface. She shook her head fondly, wondering how long it would take for Kim to notice, and come bursting through the door.

She walked toward the counter, curled her fingers around the paper, and let her eyes move over the first few lines. Her smile was still big when she heard a knock at the door. She carried the papers with her, released the locks, and pulled the door open.

“Forget your keys, too? You big idi-”

Only it wasn’t Kim.

“You weren’t in class today,” Katya said, hardly even a whisper, nervously moving her car keys between her fingers.

Katya’s eyes were big, searching, with dark, bluish rings settled beneath them. She looked down at the floor, and then back at Trixie, whose jaw hung open, slightly slack. The papers slipped from her fingers, and hit the floor with a soft whack.

“I wasn’t.”

“You’re here,” Katya said.

“I am,” she replied breathlessly, her smile long gone.

And before she could speak again, Katya’s arms were around her neck, their lips crashing into each other with a force that could sink ships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hang out with me on this hellsite!! [My Tumblr](http://dahliasforkatya.tumblr.com/)


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